Blessed be the day, and the month, and the year,
The weather and the season, and the hour and the moment,
Blessed be the heavens and the lovely countryside
Where, by her two beautiful eyes my soul was put into chains!
Blessed forever be the groan I gave
At the first desperation of my distraction [by love],
Blessed the bow, the quiver, and the feathered arrow
That finally mortally wounded me to the heart!
And blessed and blessed all these cries of joy and of distress
With which I have mixed the name of my beautiful mistress,
My tears, my sighs, my wishes, my passion,
And blessed all these songs that are my legacy
And blessed my thoughts, in which, alone and unmitigated,
She is the honor, she is the honor, the glory and the adoration!
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Translation into Bosnian/Croatian/Serbian
Blažen bio dan, mjesec i doba,
godina i mjesto i predjel i vrijeme,
kad su moje usne zadrhtale nijeme,
a njene me oči svezale ko roba.
I blažena nek je moja prva patnja,
s kojom me bješe ljubav izmučila,
i luk i strijela sto me oborila,
i rane što srcu mom postaše pratnja.
I blaženi nek su krici žudnje velje,
s kojom sam zvao ime čisto,
te obilne suze, uzdasi i zelje,
ko i bijeli papir na kojem sada
stičem sebi slavu: i mis’o mi, isto,
što je samo njena, što njoj samo spada.
In the morning the bitch whelped
Seven reddish-brown puppies,
In the rye barn where a row
Of bast mats gleamed like gold.
Licking their pelts smooth,
And underneath her, the snow
Melted out in the heat.
But at dusk, when the hens
Were roosting on the perch,
There came the grim-faced master
Who stuffed the pups in a sack.
The bitch bounded alongside him,
Over the snow-deep fields,
And the icy surface of the water
Shuddered a long, long while.
And when at last she struggled home,
Licking the sweat from her sides,
To her the moon above the house
Seemed like one of the pups.
Whimpering loudly she gazed up
Limpidly into the dark,
While over the hill, the slender moon
Slid into the fields beyond.
And softly, as when someone,
Jesting, throws her a stone,
Her tears, like golden stars,
Trickled down into the snow.
Pesma o keruši
Jutros rano gde strn šumi, lupka,
gde se beli trska, u guguti,
sedmoro je oštenila kucka,
sedmoro je oštenila žuti’.
Do u sumrak grlila ih nežno
i lizala niz dlaku što rudi,
i slivo se mlak sok neizbežno,
iz tih toplih materinskih grudi.
A uvece, kad živina juri,
da zauzme motke, il’ prut jak,
izišo je tad domacin tmuri,
i svu štenad potrpo u džak.
A ona je za tragom trcala,
stizala ga, kao kad uhode…
I dugo je, dugo je drhtala
nezamrzla površina vode.
Pri povratku, vukuc se po tmini,
i ližuci znoj s bedara lenih,
mesec joj se nad izbom ucini,
kao jedno od kucica njenih.
Zurila je u svod plavi, glatki,
zavijala bolno za svojima,
a mesec se kotrljao tanki,
i skrio se za hum u poljima.
Nemo, ko od milosti il’ srece,
kad joj bace kamicak niz breg,
pale su i njene oci psece,
kao zlatni sjaj zvezda u sneg.
