| ND'ËMBËLJ AQË TË PUTHURIT? | CAN A KISS BE SWEETER? |
| Girolamo de Rada | trans. Robert Elsie (from Albanian) |
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Ish e diella menat E i biri zonjës madhe Ngjitej tek e bukura Të m'i ljipën një pik uj, Se ish et' i djegurith. Vetëm e çoi ndë vatërët, Çë këshen më pjeksënej. Ata duhëshin e s'e thoshin. Vajza, me buzën mbë gaz: 'Ç'ësht e ikën si ajri?' 'Më presën ndë roljiet.' 'Di moll t'ardhura Qëndro, u tij t'i ruata.' Me një dor ngrëjturith Mbanej mbi veshin e bardh Ljesht e saj të shpjeksurith; Kalli jetërën te gjiri E më goljq mollëzit, Më ja e vu ndë dorjet, Ndë çerët e dhezurëz. Thomnie ju, të dashurit, Nd'ëmbëlj aqë të puthurit? |
It was Sunday morning And the son of the noble matron Went to visit the fair maid To ask for a drop of water, For he was dying of thirst. He found her alone by the hearth Braiding her hair. They loved one another, but spoke not of their love, The maiden with a smile on her lips: 'Why must you fly off like the wind?' 'They're awaiting me for discus throwing.' 'Wait a moment, I've kept Two ripe apples for you.' Holding her combed hair With one raised hand Over her pale ears, She plunged the other into her bodice And pulled out the apples, Placing them in his hands, Blushing with embarrassment. Tell me, oh lovers, Can a kiss be sweeter? |
Trans. Copyright © Robert Elsie 1995.