Текст оригинала на английском языке
To Mary In Summer
LAY your head here, Mary, Lay your head here, While the blown grass, Mary, With timid voice and wary, Sings in your ear:— The grass which round us, Mary, Shuts like a nest; By your dear limbs, dear Mary, Lighter than limbs of Faery, Daintily press'd. Back with it all though, Mary, Back and aside; The wind comes this way, Mary, And here the trees are airy And the skies are wide. What do your eyes fear, Mary, So grave and soft? I love to see them, Mary, In whimsical vagary Lifted aloft. Mary, Mary, Mary, Laugh in my face: You know now, my own Mary, No eyes can laugh so rarely Or grant such grace. Your cheek is pale now, Mary, And red, by turns. Why should the hand be chary Of that to give which, Mary, The heart so yearns? Give me your hand, ah Mary, Give me your hand: In city or in prairie There is none kinder, Mary, From land to land. Your lips to my lips, Mary, Your lips to mine: High up in Hebe's dairy No milk so sweet, my Mary, On earth no wine. Lay your head here, Mary, Lay your head here; While my heart now, Mary, The pleasant tune to vary, Beats in your ear.
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