Lyrics Асадов Э.А. - Белые розы
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The lyrics of the song are provided for your reference Асадов Э.А. - Белые розы, and also a translation of a song with a video or clip.
Сентябрь. Седьмое число -
День моего рождения,
Небо с утра занесло,
А в доме, всем тучам назло,
Вешнее настроение!
Оно над столом парит
Облаком белоснежным.
И запахом пряно-нежным
Крепче вина пьянит.
Бутоны тугие, хрустящие,
В каплях холодных рос.
Как будто ненастоящие,
Как будто бы в белой чаще
Их выдумал дед-мороз.
Какой уже год получаю
Я этот привет из роз.
И задаю вопрос:
- Кто же их, кто принес? -
Но так еще и не знаю.
Обняв, как охапку снега,
Приносит их всякий раз
Девушка в ранний час,
Словно из книги Цвейга.
Вспыхнет на миг, как пламя,
Слова смущенно-тихи:
- Спасибо вам за стихи! -
И вниз застучит каблучками.
Кто она? Где живет?
Спрашивать бесполезно!
Романтике в рамках тесно.
Где все до конца известно -
Красивое пропадет...
Три слова, короткий взгляд
Да пальцы с прохладной кожей...
Так было и год назад,
И три, и четыре тоже...
Скрывается, тает след
Таинственной доброй вестницы.
И только цветов букет
Да стук каблучков по лестнице...
September. Seventh -
My birthday
The sky skidded in the morning
And in the house, to all the clouds in spite,
Spring mood!
It hovers over the table
The cloud is snow-white.
And the smell of spicy gentle
Stronger wine intoxicates.
The buds are tight, crispy,
Drops of cold rose.
As if fake
As if in white more often
They were invented by Santa Claus.
What year have I been getting
I am this hello of roses.
And I ask the question:
- Who are they, who brought it? -
But I still don’t know.
Hugging like an armful of snow
Brings them every time
Girl in the early hour
Like from the book of Zweig.
Flashes for a moment like a flame
The words are embarrassingly quiet:
- Thank you for the verses! -
And heels banging down.
Who is she? Where does he live?
It is useless to ask!
The romance within is cramped.
Where everything is known to the end -
Beautiful will be gone ...
Three words, short look
Yes, fingers with cool skin ...
So it was a year ago,
And three, and four too ...
Hiding, melting trail
Mysterious good messenger.
And only a bouquet of flowers
Yes, the sound of heels on the stairs ...
My birthday
The sky skidded in the morning
And in the house, to all the clouds in spite,
Spring mood!
It hovers over the table
The cloud is snow-white.
And the smell of spicy gentle
Stronger wine intoxicates.
The buds are tight, crispy,
Drops of cold rose.
As if fake
As if in white more often
They were invented by Santa Claus.
What year have I been getting
I am this hello of roses.
And I ask the question:
- Who are they, who brought it? -
But I still don’t know.
Hugging like an armful of snow
Brings them every time
Girl in the early hour
Like from the book of Zweig.
Flashes for a moment like a flame
The words are embarrassingly quiet:
- Thank you for the verses! -
And heels banging down.
Who is she? Where does he live?
It is useless to ask!
The romance within is cramped.
Where everything is known to the end -
Beautiful will be gone ...
Three words, short look
Yes, fingers with cool skin ...
So it was a year ago,
And three, and four too ...
Hiding, melting trail
Mysterious good messenger.
And only a bouquet of flowers
Yes, the sound of heels on the stairs ...