THE ROSE OF BULGARIA
Red is your hue, pretty rose of Bulgaria.
On its state emblem
so graceful you are,
Were I invested with powers vicarious,
You I’d emblazon beside the Red Star.
Red is your hue, pretty rose of Bulgaria.
No other flower so fair can be named.
Were I invested with powers vicarious,
The Order of Beauty I’d have you proclaimed.
THREE WOMEN
I kissed three women when I left.
Beneath a spreading yew
One stood and said:
«If you forget,
I’ll shed no tear for you!»
The second in the doorway held
A pitcher at her side
And bid me:
«Hurry back! Farewell!»
The third just stood and sighed.
The first I speedily forgot
Beneath the glowing skies.
The second I remembered not
Beyond the second rise.
I rode and strode by many a road
And sluggish Time I spurred,
For always I was haunted by
Remembrance of the third.
The first, the shrew, was on the roof
To watch me gallop in.
The second, suave and smiling, gave
Me water from the spring.
The third was nowhere to be seen,
Her presence there I missed.
And that’s the woman whom I dream
About—the third I kissed.
IF IN THIS WORLD A THOUSAND MEN…
If in this world a thousand men
With love for you are smarting,
Know that among those thousand men
Am I, Rasul Gamzatov.
If to your love
one hundred men
Enrol as willing martyrs,
Among them seek the mountaineer
By name Rasul Gamzatov.
If ten fine fellows you entrance,
Among those glad to barter
Their fortune for a loving glance
Am I, Rasul Gamzatov.
Should but one lover seek your hand
With fearless, peerless ardour,
Be sure the man’s none other than
The mountaineer, Gamzatov.