Anule, Hanule - Phoenix перевод на английский

Anule, Hanule

S-au dus trei hoti, trei hoti de cai
La un drum de seara, hei,
Cai arabi si crai.
Erau trei hoti, trei hoti de rai,
La un drum de ceara, hei,
Intr-un ceas coraille.

Stau de-un veac la han,
La hanul de-apoi,
În care n-auzi caval si cimpoi,
Ninsi de sus din cer cu lâna de oi
Ceasul e de ieri si ziua de joi.

Mare, masla lor care e,
Care le e hramul, hei,
Si adasta ce?
Galbin, vânat si pembe,
Sa se uste ramul, hei,
La Edi-Kule!

Sfat de taina tin 'colo la cel han.
Han de toti uitat si de Gingis-han,
În care o zi-i mai mare de-un an
Si anu-i un veac si veacul-noian.

Rogu sa îmi spui ce fac ei,
Si ce pun la cale, hei,
Craisorii trei?
Vezi si însuti ca nu frig miei
Nici golesc pocale, hei,
Craisorii zmei!

Dar au un ceaslov cu scoarte de-argint,
Timpul vremuind, ne-îngalbenind,
Filele-i viind, far' de moarte fiind,
Cartea vietii lor însisi procetind.

Ceasul e de ieri si ziua de voi,
Ninsi de sus din cer cu lâna de oi
Si cu mult alean cântati sunt de noi,
Stau de-un veac la han, la hanul de-apoi.

Anule, Hanule

Three horse thieves, three horse thieves they went
On a road at night, hey,
Horses Arabian and noble.
They were three thieves, three thieves of thieves,
On a road of wax, hey,
In an hour of twilight.

They stay for a century at the inn,
At the inn of yore,
In which you hear no flute or bagpipe,
It snows from the sky above with wool from sheep
The hour is from yesterday and the day is Thursday.

Great, their table which is,
Which is their patron saint, hey,
And what is this?
Yellow, bruised and pink,
May the branch wither, hey,
At Edi-Kule!

Council in secret they hold at that inn.
Inn forgotten by all and by Genghis Khan,
In which one day is longer than a year
And the year is a century and the century a flood.

I beg you to tell me what they do,
And what they plan, hey,
The three princes?
See and know that they do not shiver
Nor empty their cups, hey,
The princes, fierce dragons!

But they have a prayer book with a cover of silver,
The time coming, not yellowing,
Its pages coming, being without death,
The book of their own life proceedings.

The hour is from yesterday and the day from you,
It snows from the sky above with wool from sheep
And with much fondness they are sung of by us,
They stay for a century at the inn, at the inn of yore.