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1
Од најљепших бића желимо младине
Да љепоте ружа с њом не умре никад,
Него, кад зрелији с временом премине,
Њежан баштиник да њему буде дика.
Али ти, за своје сјајне очи вјерен,
Својим уљем храниш своје свијеће плам,
Творећ праву глад гдје обиље се стере,
Сам свој душман, грозан милом себи сам.
Ти који си сада свијету урес свјежи
И једини гласник гиздаву прољећу,
Расипан у тврдичењу, шкрче њежни,
У пупољку свом покапаш своју срећу.
Сажали се на свијет, или буди лаком:
Свијету дуг да гуташ, и собом и раком.
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
Poslednja izmena:
2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer “This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,”
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it
cold
Кад ти четрдесет зима сколи чело
И нагрди ровом поље што је сјало,
Привлачна ти младост – гордо рухо бело –
Биће један дроњак који вреди мало.
И упитан тада: Шта је са лепотом,
Куд се твојих младих дана благо деде?
"У усахлом оку", ако додаш потом
То ће бити стид и речи што не вреде.
Из лепоте твоје изданак да вири –
Тад би мого рећи: "Ово дете сада
Правда моју старост и мој рачун мири",
Јер твоја лепота и у њему влада.
То би било – бити обновљен – стар, јадан,
И гледати своју топлу крв; а хладан.
•Препевао Стеван Раичковић
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer “This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,”
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it
cold
Кад ти четрдесет зима сколи чело
И нагрди ровом поље што је сјало,
Привлачна ти младост – гордо рухо бело –
Биће један дроњак који вреди мало.
И упитан тада: Шта је са лепотом,
Куд се твојих младих дана благо деде?
"У усахлом оку", ако додаш потом
То ће бити стид и речи што не вреде.
Из лепоте твоје изданак да вири –
Тад би мого рећи: "Ово дете сада
Правда моју старост и мој рачун мири",
Јер твоја лепота и у њему влада.
То би било – бити обновљен – стар, јадан,
И гледати своју топлу крв; а хладан.
•Препевао Стеван Раичковић
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 3
U ogledalo zirni i licu što gledaš
Reci sad je čas da drugo lice poda;
Ako iznova mu sad svežinu ne daš,
Varaš svet, i nekoj majci kratiš ploda.
Gde je neorano lepotice krilo
Da prezire tvoga gospodarstva ralo?
Ko je tako lud da bi mu grobom bilo
Samoljublje, i potomstvu na put stalo?
Ogledalo si majci, i u tebi ona
Priziva svoj ljupki april dobi cvatne;
Ti ćeš tako videti kroz staračka okna,
Borama usprkos, ove ure zlatne.
Ali živiš li da spomena ti nije,
Umri sam, i tvoja slika s tobom mre.
Sonnet 3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live rememb’red not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
U ogledalo zirni i licu što gledaš
Reci sad je čas da drugo lice poda;
Ako iznova mu sad svežinu ne daš,
Varaš svet, i nekoj majci kratiš ploda.
Gde je neorano lepotice krilo
Da prezire tvoga gospodarstva ralo?
Ko je tako lud da bi mu grobom bilo
Samoljublje, i potomstvu na put stalo?
Ogledalo si majci, i u tebi ona
Priziva svoj ljupki april dobi cvatne;
Ti ćeš tako videti kroz staračka okna,
Borama usprkos, ove ure zlatne.
Ali živiš li da spomena ti nije,
Umri sam, i tvoja slika s tobom mre.
Sonnet 3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live rememb’red not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 4
Rasipna ljupkosti, zašto na se sama
Trošiš što lepote baština ti preda?
Od prirode zapis nije dar već zajam,
A podašan zajmi onom ko je štedar.
Pa, prelepi škrče, zašto li zlorabiš
Pusto blago dano tebi da ga dadeš?
Zelenaću bez dobiti, zašto rabiš
Tako silnu svotu, a živet ne znadeš?
Jer, dok poslovanje sam sa sobom vodiš,
Ti za dražest svoju varaš sama sebe.
Kako će, kad narav zovne te da hodiš,
Ostati prihvatljiv račun iza tebe?
Nerabljena lepost s tobom u grob grede,
Rabljena živi da volju ti provede.
Sonnet 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And, being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd lives th' executor to be.
Rasipna ljupkosti, zašto na se sama
Trošiš što lepote baština ti preda?
Od prirode zapis nije dar već zajam,
A podašan zajmi onom ko je štedar.
Pa, prelepi škrče, zašto li zlorabiš
Pusto blago dano tebi da ga dadeš?
Zelenaću bez dobiti, zašto rabiš
Tako silnu svotu, a živet ne znadeš?
Jer, dok poslovanje sam sa sobom vodiš,
Ti za dražest svoju varaš sama sebe.
Kako će, kad narav zovne te da hodiš,
Ostati prihvatljiv račun iza tebe?
Nerabljena lepost s tobom u grob grede,
Rabljena živi da volju ti provede.
Sonnet 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And, being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd lives th' executor to be.
- Poruka
- 95.555
SONET 5
One ure što su s blagim marom tkale
Ljupki zor do kojeg svako oko plovi,
Biće prema njemu nasilnice jalne
I poružnit ono što krasotom slovi;
Neumorno vreme vodi leto prema
Grozomornoj zimi da onde nastrada:
Mraz stinuo sok, već bujna lišća nema,
Lepota pod snegom i pustoš svud vlada.
Kad ni jedna letna ne ostane kap,
Žitka sužnjica u zidima od stakla,
A s lepotom otet i lepote slap —
Ni nje, ni spomena da je išta takla.
Al tiješteno cveće, premda zimu sreta,
Gubi samo privid; bit mu vazda cveta.
One ure što su s blagim marom tkale
Ljupki zor do kojeg svako oko plovi,
Biće prema njemu nasilnice jalne
I poružnit ono što krasotom slovi;
Neumorno vreme vodi leto prema
Grozomornoj zimi da onde nastrada:
Mraz stinuo sok, već bujna lišća nema,
Lepota pod snegom i pustoš svud vlada.
Kad ni jedna letna ne ostane kap,
Žitka sužnjica u zidima od stakla,
A s lepotom otet i lepote slap —
Ni nje, ni spomena da je išta takla.
Al tiješteno cveće, premda zimu sreta,
Gubi samo privid; bit mu vazda cveta.
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 6
Ne daj gruboj ruci zime da ti kvari
To leto u tebi, sok iscedi pre:
Neki sud osladi, neki kut obdari
Blagom te lepote, dok se ne ubije.
Nije zabranjena lihva zajam koji
Usrećuje one što plaćaju redno;
To jest kad ti biće drugo biće goji,
Il, desetkrat bolje, deset njih za jedno.
Sretniji bi tada bio deset krati,
Deset tvojih tobom desetkrat da biva;
Što bi tada smrt, da moraš putovati,
Kad ostavljaš sebe u potomstvu živa?
Ne budi tvrdoglav, previše si divan
Da plen smrti budeš, od crvi uživan.
Sonnet 6
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
Ne daj gruboj ruci zime da ti kvari
To leto u tebi, sok iscedi pre:
Neki sud osladi, neki kut obdari
Blagom te lepote, dok se ne ubije.
Nije zabranjena lihva zajam koji
Usrećuje one što plaćaju redno;
To jest kad ti biće drugo biće goji,
Il, desetkrat bolje, deset njih za jedno.
Sretniji bi tada bio deset krati,
Deset tvojih tobom desetkrat da biva;
Što bi tada smrt, da moraš putovati,
Kad ostavljaš sebe u potomstvu živa?
Ne budi tvrdoglav, previše si divan
Da plen smrti budeš, od crvi uživan.
Sonnet 6
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
Наутилус
Domaćin
- Poruka
- 4.680
Сонет 7
Гле, на истоку кад миловидно свјетло
Диже пламну главу, свако око земно
Погледима служи величанство свето,
Огрануло лице штујући му спремно;
И кад већ на стрмен бријег небески крочи,
Слично снажну момку у доба му цватно,
Ипак му љепоту дворе смртне очи
Позорно му пратећ ходочашће златно;
Али кад с врхунца, с кочијом уморном,
Као старац слаб низ обданицу срне,
Другуд гледа око, дотада покорно,
С његове се ниске стазе сада сврне.
Тако ти, кад минеш с подневних висина,
Негледан ћеш мријети не зачнеш ли сина.
Sonnet 7
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.
Гле, на истоку кад миловидно свјетло
Диже пламну главу, свако око земно
Погледима служи величанство свето,
Огрануло лице штујући му спремно;
И кад већ на стрмен бријег небески крочи,
Слично снажну момку у доба му цватно,
Ипак му љепоту дворе смртне очи
Позорно му пратећ ходочашће златно;
Али кад с врхунца, с кочијом уморном,
Као старац слаб низ обданицу срне,
Другуд гледа око, дотада покорно,
С његове се ниске стазе сада сврне.
Тако ти, кад минеш с подневних висина,
Негледан ћеш мријети не зачнеш ли сина.
Sonnet 7
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.
Mika
dream catcher
- Poruka
- 24.291
Sonet 8
Glazbo zvonka, zašto glazbu slušaš žalno?
Slast na slast ne vojšti, radost radost ište;
Zašto voliš ono što ne primaš harno,
Il s užitkom primaš stvari što te tište?
Ako ugođenih zvukova ti kolo,
Vjenčanih u vjernoj slozi, uho grebe,
Oni samo blago kore te što solo
Kvariš dionice skladane za tebe.
Jedna žica, gle, ko blag muž drugu sretne,
Svaka svaku dirne uzjamnim redom,
Poput oca, djeteta i majke sretne
Jedan mio zvuk svi poju kao jedno;
Njihov nijemi poj, mnogostruk, regbi jedan,
Tebi pjeva: »Samcem postat ćeš nijedan«.
Sonet 8
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'
Glazbo zvonka, zašto glazbu slušaš žalno?
Slast na slast ne vojšti, radost radost ište;
Zašto voliš ono što ne primaš harno,
Il s užitkom primaš stvari što te tište?
Ako ugođenih zvukova ti kolo,
Vjenčanih u vjernoj slozi, uho grebe,
Oni samo blago kore te što solo
Kvariš dionice skladane za tebe.
Jedna žica, gle, ko blag muž drugu sretne,
Svaka svaku dirne uzjamnim redom,
Poput oca, djeteta i majke sretne
Jedan mio zvuk svi poju kao jedno;
Njihov nijemi poj, mnogostruk, regbi jedan,
Tebi pjeva: »Samcem postat ćeš nijedan«.
Sonet 8
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 9
Zar od straha kopniš samačkim životom
što ćeš oko nekoj udovici zalit?
Ah, bezdetan ako možda umreš potom,
Ko žena bez muža svet će tebe žalit.
Svet će biti tvoja udova i žalno
Plakaće što sebi slike ne ostavi,
Kad udova svaka može čuvat stalno
Po dečijim očima mužev lik u glavi.
Dok rasipnik troši po svetu imetak,
Premešta ga tek, jer svet i dalje dvori;
Al lepota ima na svetu svršetak,
Ko je ne porabi, tako je razori.
Ljubavi za druge u grudima nema
Ko sam sebi to ubistvo sramno sprema.
Sonnet 9
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
Zar od straha kopniš samačkim životom
što ćeš oko nekoj udovici zalit?
Ah, bezdetan ako možda umreš potom,
Ko žena bez muža svet će tebe žalit.
Svet će biti tvoja udova i žalno
Plakaće što sebi slike ne ostavi,
Kad udova svaka može čuvat stalno
Po dečijim očima mužev lik u glavi.
Dok rasipnik troši po svetu imetak,
Premešta ga tek, jer svet i dalje dvori;
Al lepota ima na svetu svršetak,
Ko je ne porabi, tako je razori.
Ljubavi za druge u grudima nema
Ko sam sebi to ubistvo sramno sprema.
Sonnet 9
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
faraonn
Elita
- Poruka
- 19.872
...
"Много је ствари на небу и на
земљи о којима твоја мудрост ни не сања, мој Хорацио!"
Вилијам Шекспир
"Много је ствари на небу и на
земљи о којима твоја мудрост ни не сања, мој Хорацио!"
Вилијам Шекспир
10.
Од срамоте нијечи да ти волиш кога,
Ти што себе тако лакоумно губиш;
Тврди, ако хоћеш, да те воли многа,
Али ти ниједну очито не љубиш;
Јер те убилачка мржња тако слијепи
Да се против себе ротиш погибељно,
Тражећи да рушиш онај кров прелијепи
Што би ваљало да обнављаш га жељно.
Ох, промијени наум, да промијеним мнијење!
Зар ће мржња љепше него љубав стати?
Буди благ и љубак, какво си створење,
Или барем себи усрдност узврати.
Дај, мени за љубав, другог себе себи,
Да љепота живи у твом ил у теби.
If you have any sense of shame, admit that you don’t have any love in your heart for anyone, since you’re so unwilling to care about yourself. I’ll admit, if you like, that many people love you, but it’s also obvious that you love no one. For you are so possessed with murderous hatred that you have no problem plotting against yourself, seeking to destroy the house that you should want to repair. Oh, change your way of thinking, so I can change my mind about you. Should hate have a more beautiful home than love? Be gracious and kind, like your appearance—or at least be kind-hearted to yourself. Have a child out of love for me, so your beauty will live on in your children, if not in you.
Од срамоте нијечи да ти волиш кога,
Ти што себе тако лакоумно губиш;
Тврди, ако хоћеш, да те воли многа,
Али ти ниједну очито не љубиш;
Јер те убилачка мржња тако слијепи
Да се против себе ротиш погибељно,
Тражећи да рушиш онај кров прелијепи
Што би ваљало да обнављаш га жељно.
Ох, промијени наум, да промијеним мнијење!
Зар ће мржња љепше него љубав стати?
Буди благ и љубак, какво си створење,
Или барем себи усрдност узврати.
Дај, мени за љубав, другог себе себи,
Да љепота живи у твом ил у теби.
If you have any sense of shame, admit that you don’t have any love in your heart for anyone, since you’re so unwilling to care about yourself. I’ll admit, if you like, that many people love you, but it’s also obvious that you love no one. For you are so possessed with murderous hatred that you have no problem plotting against yourself, seeking to destroy the house that you should want to repair. Oh, change your way of thinking, so I can change my mind about you. Should hate have a more beautiful home than love? Be gracious and kind, like your appearance—or at least be kind-hearted to yourself. Have a child out of love for me, so your beauty will live on in your children, if not in you.
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 11
Kako brzo veneš, tako brzo rašćeš
U jednom od svojih, iz tog što ostavljaš,
I tu svežu krv što mlađahno je daješ
Možeš svojom zvati kad mladost otpravljaš.
Tu se procvat, mudrost i lepota stane,
Bez tog propast hladna, starost i ludilo;
I vreme bi stalo da to svi nakane,
Za šezdeset leta ne bi sveta bilo.
Koga narav nije za potomstvo tkala,
Ružan, prost i grub, nek jalov se zatare;
Ko je nadaren, još više mu je dala,
I ti štedro neguj svoje štedre dare:
Za svoj žig te reza, misleći da njime
Trebaš štampat još, da uzorak ne zgine.
Sonnet 11
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
Kako brzo veneš, tako brzo rašćeš
U jednom od svojih, iz tog što ostavljaš,
I tu svežu krv što mlađahno je daješ
Možeš svojom zvati kad mladost otpravljaš.
Tu se procvat, mudrost i lepota stane,
Bez tog propast hladna, starost i ludilo;
I vreme bi stalo da to svi nakane,
Za šezdeset leta ne bi sveta bilo.
Koga narav nije za potomstvo tkala,
Ružan, prost i grub, nek jalov se zatare;
Ko je nadaren, još više mu je dala,
I ti štedro neguj svoje štedre dare:
Za svoj žig te reza, misleći da njime
Trebaš štampat još, da uzorak ne zgine.
Sonnet 11
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
Sonet 12
Kad brecaje brojim što kazuju vreme,
Videć blistav dan u groznoj tonut noći;
Kad promatram kako ljubica jur vene
I crni se prami srebre u sedoći;
Kad vidim bez lišća stabla uznosita,
Stadima na žezi doskorašnji osen,
A sva letna zelen na nosila zbita,
Svezana u snoplje, s belim krtim osem;
Tad me o lepoti tvojoj muče dvojbe
Da ćeš s onim minuti što vreme smiče,
Jer se milja i lepote sami drobe
I mru čim vide kako drugo niče;
Ništa ne odoli vremenitoj kosi
Već porod, da njoj u grabežu prkosi.
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
Kad brecaje brojim što kazuju vreme,
Videć blistav dan u groznoj tonut noći;
Kad promatram kako ljubica jur vene
I crni se prami srebre u sedoći;
Kad vidim bez lišća stabla uznosita,
Stadima na žezi doskorašnji osen,
A sva letna zelen na nosila zbita,
Svezana u snoplje, s belim krtim osem;
Tad me o lepoti tvojoj muče dvojbe
Da ćeš s onim minuti što vreme smiče,
Jer se milja i lepote sami drobe
I mru čim vide kako drugo niče;
Ništa ne odoli vremenitoj kosi
Već porod, da njoj u grabežu prkosi.
Sonnet 12: When I do count the clock that tells the time
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEAREWhen I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
- Poruka
- 95.555
Sonnet 13
O that you were yourself!
But, love, you are
No longer yours than you
yourself here live.
Against this coming
end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance
to some other give.
So should that beauty
which you hold in lease
Find no determination;
then you were
Yourself again after
yourself’s decease,
When your sweet issue
your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house
fall to decay,
Which husbandry in
honor might uphold
Against the stormy
gusts of winter’s day
And barren rage
of death’s eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts,
dear my love you know,
You had a father;
let your son say so.
Oh, da jesi svoj!
Al nećeš duže biti
Svoj, ljubavi,
nego sam dok ovde traješ;
Pripremaj se protiv svršetka što hiti
Da obličje slatko nekom drugom daješ.
Tako ta lepota, uzeta u najam,
Ne bi našla konca; ti bi tada bio
Opet to što jesi, posle svoga kraja,
Kad tvoj mili porod nosi lik ti mio.
Ko zapušta lepu kuću da propane,
Kad je časno mogu držat marni ljudi
Spram olujnih vihora u zimske dane
I jalova gneva večne smrtne studi?
Oh, tek rasipnici! Ljubljeni, ti znade
Oca svog, i sin tvoj neka ga imade.
O that you were yourself!
But, love, you are
No longer yours than you
yourself here live.
Against this coming
end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance
to some other give.
So should that beauty
which you hold in lease
Find no determination;
then you were
Yourself again after
yourself’s decease,
When your sweet issue
your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house
fall to decay,
Which husbandry in
honor might uphold
Against the stormy
gusts of winter’s day
And barren rage
of death’s eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts,
dear my love you know,
You had a father;
let your son say so.
Oh, da jesi svoj!
Al nećeš duže biti
Svoj, ljubavi,
nego sam dok ovde traješ;
Pripremaj se protiv svršetka što hiti
Da obličje slatko nekom drugom daješ.
Tako ta lepota, uzeta u najam,
Ne bi našla konca; ti bi tada bio
Opet to što jesi, posle svoga kraja,
Kad tvoj mili porod nosi lik ti mio.
Ko zapušta lepu kuću da propane,
Kad je časno mogu držat marni ljudi
Spram olujnih vihora u zimske dane
I jalova gneva večne smrtne studi?
Oh, tek rasipnici! Ljubljeni, ti znade
Oca svog, i sin tvoj neka ga imade.
14.
По звијездама свом се не домишљам суду,
Премда мислим да сам зналац звјездословља —
Не да добру срећу кажем или худу,
Куге, неродице, ил нарав раздобља;
Нити могу коб часака кратких рећи,
Придајући сваком вјетар, гром и кишу,
Нит хоће ли кнезовима поћ по срећи,
Ичим што наслутим да небеса пишу.
Већ знање из твојих очију гонетам,
Читам у тим сталним звијездама умијеће:
Да ће истина с љепотом скупа цвјетат
Ако се од себе к потомству окрећеш.
Иначе ти навијештам да твоја смрт
Истину ће скончат и љепоту стрт.
https://sr.m.wikisource.org/sr-ec/Сонет_(Шекспир)_14
And yet methinks I have Astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/14
По звијездама свом се не домишљам суду,
Премда мислим да сам зналац звјездословља —
Не да добру срећу кажем или худу,
Куге, неродице, ил нарав раздобља;
Нити могу коб часака кратких рећи,
Придајући сваком вјетар, гром и кишу,
Нит хоће ли кнезовима поћ по срећи,
Ичим што наслутим да небеса пишу.
Већ знање из твојих очију гонетам,
Читам у тим сталним звијездама умијеће:
Да ће истина с љепотом скупа цвјетат
Ако се од себе к потомству окрећеш.
Иначе ти навијештам да твоја смрт
Истину ће скончат и љепоту стрт.
https://sr.m.wikisource.org/sr-ec/Сонет_(Шекспир)_14
Sonnet XIV
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;And yet methinks I have Astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/14
15
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45086/sonnet-15-when-i-consider-everything-that-grows
15.
Kad promatram kako sve što nikne klicom
Samo kratak čas u savršenstvu traje,
Da na igre ovom velom pozornicom
Zvijezde liju svoje tajne utjecaje;
Kad vidim da ljudi rastu poput bilja,
Dok ih isto nebo i bodri i drobi,
Kipte mladim sokom, klonu sred obilja,
I odnose spomen o junačkoj dobi;
Tad mi pojam ove nestalnosti stavlja
U vidokrug tebe, tvoju mladost bujnu,
Gdje zatorno vrijeme s rasulom raspravlja
Da mlađahni dan u noć ti mijenja nujnu;
Pa za tvoju ljubav boj s vremenom bijem,
Dok te ono trga, ja te snova sijem.
https://sr.m.wikisource.org/sr-el/Сонет_(Шекспир)_15
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45086/sonnet-15-when-i-consider-everything-that-grows
15.
Kad promatram kako sve što nikne klicom
Samo kratak čas u savršenstvu traje,
Da na igre ovom velom pozornicom
Zvijezde liju svoje tajne utjecaje;
Kad vidim da ljudi rastu poput bilja,
Dok ih isto nebo i bodri i drobi,
Kipte mladim sokom, klonu sred obilja,
I odnose spomen o junačkoj dobi;
Tad mi pojam ove nestalnosti stavlja
U vidokrug tebe, tvoju mladost bujnu,
Gdje zatorno vrijeme s rasulom raspravlja
Da mlađahni dan u noć ti mijenja nujnu;
Pa za tvoju ljubav boj s vremenom bijem,
Dok te ono trga, ja te snova sijem.
https://sr.m.wikisource.org/sr-el/Сонет_(Шекспир)_15
- Poruka
- 95.555
Sonnet 16
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time,
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessèd than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit.
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this time’s pencil or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time,
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessèd than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit.
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this time’s pencil or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
 Ali zašto s jačom ne zavojštiš strasti Na tog krvožedna silnika, na vreme? I ne utvrdiš se u svojoj propasti Boljim sredstvima od jalove mi pesme? Sad stojiš na vršku trenutaka sreće, Mnoge devičanske bašče nesađene S krotkom bi ti željom dale živo cveće, Puno sličnije od slike patvorene. Životne su crte obnova života; Kroz vremena kist i đačko pero moje Ni skrita ti vrednost ni vanjska ljepota U očima ljudskim žive ne opstoje. Razdaješ li sebe, sebe čuvaš smrtan; Moraš živeti, umećem svojim crtan.  |
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 17
Tko će mojoj pjesmi u buduće doba
Vjerovat, da hvale najviše ti lije?
Premda nebo zna da još je poput groba —
Ne kaže te pola, a život ti krije.
Da opisat mogu očiju ti dražest,
Novim nizom nizat svu tvoju milinu,
Buduće bi vrijeme reklo: »Pjesnik laže,
Takav rajski dodir zemnika ne dirnu.«
Tako, žut od ljeta, moj će ovaj listak
Bit prezren ko šuplje staračko hvastanje,
Tvoje će se pravo zvat pjesnički vrisak
I nategnut metar pjesme nekadanje.
Al' da ti je tada koje dijete živo,
Živio bi dvaput: s njim i s mojim stihom.
Sonnet 17
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.
Tko će mojoj pjesmi u buduće doba
Vjerovat, da hvale najviše ti lije?
Premda nebo zna da još je poput groba —
Ne kaže te pola, a život ti krije.
Da opisat mogu očiju ti dražest,
Novim nizom nizat svu tvoju milinu,
Buduće bi vrijeme reklo: »Pjesnik laže,
Takav rajski dodir zemnika ne dirnu.«
Tako, žut od ljeta, moj će ovaj listak
Bit prezren ko šuplje staračko hvastanje,
Tvoje će se pravo zvat pjesnički vrisak
I nategnut metar pjesme nekadanje.
Al' da ti je tada koje dijete živo,
Živio bi dvaput: s njim i s mojim stihom.
Sonnet 17
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.
18
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45087/sonnet-18-shall-i-compare-thee-to-a-summers-day
Са летњим даном не знам да ли да те
Поредим, кад си – лепши, чари тише?
Пупољке маја страшни ветри смлате
И време лета кратко је одвише;
Понекад око неба јара руби,
А често златни лик потамни неба;
Све што је лепо лепоту и губи
Кад случај хоће ил природи треба.
Свенути неће вечно лето твоје,
Нити лепота, а и смрт се неће
Хвалити да ти покри тамом боје,
У вечност – песма – и твој лик однеће.
Док око види и док дишу људи
С песмом ће овом твој лик да се буди.
• Препевао Стеван Раичковић
https://www.poezijasustine.rs/2019/11/vilijam-sekspir-sonet-18.html
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45087/sonnet-18-shall-i-compare-thee-to-a-summers-day
Са летњим даном не знам да ли да те
Поредим, кад си – лепши, чари тише?
Пупољке маја страшни ветри смлате
И време лета кратко је одвише;
Понекад око неба јара руби,
А често златни лик потамни неба;
Све што је лепо лепоту и губи
Кад случај хоће ил природи треба.
Свенути неће вечно лето твоје,
Нити лепота, а и смрт се неће
Хвалити да ти покри тамом боје,
У вечност – песма – и твој лик однеће.
Док око види и док дишу људи
С песмом ће овом твој лик да се буди.
• Препевао Стеван Раичковић
https://www.poezijasustine.rs/2019/11/vilijam-sekspir-sonet-18.html
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 19
Proždrljivo vrijeme, lavu pandže srubi,
I zemlju da ždere milo leglo nagnaj;
Strašne ralje tigra liši oštrih zubi,
Feniksa u krvi dugovjeka sažgaj;
Smjenjuj vedra doba i tužna u letu,
Brzonogo vrijeme, čini što god htjelo
Svim slastima trošnim i širokom svijetu;
Al ti priječim jedno ogavno zlodjelo:
Oh, lijepo mi čelo ljubavi ne brazdaj,
Nit na njemu vuci crte drevnim perom;
Ne takni ga u svom tijeku, daj da vazda
Za ljepotu bude potomcima mjerom.
l ti, staro vrijeme, sve najgore skrivi —
Moja ljubav sveđ u stihu mlada živi.
Sonnet 19
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd Phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one more heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen!
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
Proždrljivo vrijeme, lavu pandže srubi,
I zemlju da ždere milo leglo nagnaj;
Strašne ralje tigra liši oštrih zubi,
Feniksa u krvi dugovjeka sažgaj;
Smjenjuj vedra doba i tužna u letu,
Brzonogo vrijeme, čini što god htjelo
Svim slastima trošnim i širokom svijetu;
Al ti priječim jedno ogavno zlodjelo:
Oh, lijepo mi čelo ljubavi ne brazdaj,
Nit na njemu vuci crte drevnim perom;
Ne takni ga u svom tijeku, daj da vazda
Za ljepotu bude potomcima mjerom.
l ti, staro vrijeme, sve najgore skrivi —
Moja ljubav sveđ u stihu mlada živi.
Sonnet 19
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd Phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one more heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen!
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
- Poruka
- 95.555
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure
Lice žene s naslikanom rukom Prirode
Imaš li, gospodarice moju strast;
Nježno žensko srce, ali nije upoznato
S promjenama, kao što je to lažna ženska moda;
Oko svjetlije od njihovog, manje lažno u kotrljanju,
Pozlaćivanje predmeta nakon čega gazeth;
muškarac u nijansi, sve "nijanse" u svojoj kontroli,
koja krade muškarčeve oči, a ženske duše zapanjuje.
A za ženu koju si prvi put stvorio;
do prirode, kao ona kovao te, pao
I dodavanjem mene od tebe poraženog
Dodavanjem jedne stvari mojoj svrsi ništa.
Ali budući da te izbola iz ženskog zadovoljstva,
moja budi -tvoja ljubav i tvoja ljubav iskoristite njihovo blago.
- Poruka
- 131.083
Sonet 21
Tako nije sa mnom poput one muze
Kojoj stih ljepota naličena krijepi,
Što i samo nebo za uresje uze,
I spominje svoju lijepost sa svim lijepim:
Sa suncem je gordo i s mjesecom spari,
Sa zemljom i s morskim draguljima skupim,
S prvim cvijećem travnja, s mnoštvom rijetkih stvari
Što u ovoj silnoj kugli nebo skupi.
Kad iskreno ljubim, iskreno ću pjeti,
Tad vjerujte meni: od ljubavi moje
Ljepšu ne porodi majka, prem ne svijeti
Kao zlatne svijeće što na nebu stoje;
Brbljanje tko voli, može više dodat —
Ja ne hvalim ono što ne kanim prodat.
Sonnet 21
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heav'n itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse—
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flow'rs, and all things rare
That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me, true in love but truly write,
And then believe me: my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
Tako nije sa mnom poput one muze
Kojoj stih ljepota naličena krijepi,
Što i samo nebo za uresje uze,
I spominje svoju lijepost sa svim lijepim:
Sa suncem je gordo i s mjesecom spari,
Sa zemljom i s morskim draguljima skupim,
S prvim cvijećem travnja, s mnoštvom rijetkih stvari
Što u ovoj silnoj kugli nebo skupi.
Kad iskreno ljubim, iskreno ću pjeti,
Tad vjerujte meni: od ljubavi moje
Ljepšu ne porodi majka, prem ne svijeti
Kao zlatne svijeće što na nebu stoje;
Brbljanje tko voli, može više dodat —
Ja ne hvalim ono što ne kanim prodat.
Sonnet 21
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heav'n itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse—
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flow'rs, and all things rare
That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me, true in love but truly write,
And then believe me: my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
