There is not something better then road. Dont ne sorry about anything bygone. Life is not beautiful without winds and troubles, isnt it? For wingly song is to tight in cheast, isnt it? For purple scrap of locomotive smoke For hoot of steamship on softwood river For elapsing meadows I say thanks you (road) and light melancholy. O road, o road! I know already Then it will be warmer in spring I coud give all for sun, roads wind And happyness to walk in my homelend. From swing from squealing from dancing car Goes wind of songs and All is flying from lightened with moon hill To shaggy cloudy sunrise. After steppe are shown mountains Road goes to golden wheat. Platforms flying (elapse), and with with loud Fast train break air with smoky chest. Spinning mountans and rivers in usual pattern, But not usual are under sky Kubans mountans and Black sea And hight Kavkaz and hills of Crimea. O road, o road! I know already Then it will be warmer in spring I coud give all for sun, roads wind And happyness to walk in my homelend.
Magnifique. Quelle souplesse d interprétation, typique des chœurs russes mais ici passée à son sommet. Une traduction en français ou en anglais serait bienvenue. Merci.
There is not something better then road. Dont ne sorry about anything bygone. Life is not beautiful without winds and troubles, isnt it? For wingly song is to tight in cheast, isnt it? For purple scrap of locomotive smoke For hoot of steamship on softwood river For elapsing meadows I say thanks you (road) and light melancholy. O road, o road! I know already Then it will be warmer in spring I coud give all for sun, roads wind And happyness to walk in my homelend. From swing from squealing from dancing car Goes wind of songs and All is flying from lightened with moon hill To shaggy cloudy sunrise. After steppe are shown mountains Road goes to golden wheat. Platforms flying (elapse), and with with loud Fast train break air with smoky chest. Spinning mountans and rivers in usual pattern, But not usual are under sky Kubans mountans and Black sea And hight Kavkaz and hills of Crimea. O road, o road! I know already Then it will be warmer in spring I coud give all for sun, roads wind And happyness to walk in my homelend.
