пичужка (A Minor Bird by R. Frost)

В.
Поёт. У дома. День и ночь.
Не по душе мне это. Прочь
гоню её, когда невмочь, -
в ладони бью. Театр? В точь.
Поёт. В тональности не той.
Но по причине препростой.
Поёт, поскольку тишина
моя ей не разрешена.
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I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.