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Конкурс переводов - Тур 47 (июнь-июль 2005 г.)
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The Land Where The Good Songs Go

On the other side of the moon
Ever so far
Beyond the last little star,
There's a land, I know,
Where the good songs go
Where it's always afternoon;
And snug in a heaven of peace and rest,
Lie the dear old songs
That we love the best.

  It's a land of flowers
  And April showers
  With sunshine in between,
  With roses blowing
  And rivers flowing
  'Mid rushes growing green,
  Where no one hurries,
  And no one worries,
  And life runs calm and slow.
  And I wish some day
  I could find my way
  To the land where the good songs go.

Dear old songs forgotten too soon
They had their day,
And then we threw them away,
And without a sigh we would pass them by,
For some other, newer tune.
So off to a happier home they flew,
Where they're always loved,
And they're always new.

  It's a land of flowers
  And April showers
  With sunshine in between,
  With roses blowing
  And rivers flowing
  'Mid rushes growing green,
  Where no one hurries,
  And no one worries,
  And life runs calm and slow.
  And I wish some day
  I could find my way
  To the land where the good songs go.

Bill

I used to dream that I would discover
The perfect lover
Some day:
I knew I'd recognize him
If ever he came 'round my way:
I always used to fancy then
He'd be one of the godlike kind of men,
With a giant brain and a noble head
Like the heroes bold
In the books I read.

But along came Bill,
Who's quite the opposite
Of all the men
In story books
In grace and looks
I know that Apollo
Would beat him all hollow,
And I can't explain...
It's surely not his brain
That makes me thrill.
I love him because he's wonderful...
Because he's just old Bill.

He can't play golf or tennis or polo
Or sing a solo
Or row.
He isn't half as handsome
As dozens of men that I know.
He isn't tall and straight and slim,
And he dresses far worse than Ted or Jim.
And I can't explain why he should be
Just the one, one man in the world for me.

He's just my Bill,
He has no gifts at all:
A motor car
He cannot steer;
And it seems clear
Whenever he dances
His partner takes chances,
Oh, I can't explain
It's surely not his brain
That makes me thrill.
I love him
Because he's--I don't know--
Because he's just my Bill

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