Привет... мой дорогой друг...Я хочу

Привет... мой дорогой друг...
Я хочу тебе прочесть... возможно на самом плохом английсяком языке, но все таки эти строки..
Я люблю лиственничные горные склоны,
и лицо умой в святой байкальской волне.
Мои предки – кочевники шири зеленой –
голубое наследство оставили мне.

Что оленные камни расскажут степям?
Что поведает путь до Последнего моря?
Пронеслись времена. И спасибо векам
за озерное чудо в таежном просторе.

Проступает багульника свет по весне.
Брызжет белыми брызгами синяя вечность.
Я не знаю, откуда во мне эта нежность
к набежавшей на берег упругой волне.

Не долина ли предков на дне под водою?
Крона кедров – не древних ли стрел оперенье?
Есть в сумбурном столетии счастье такое –
здесь, у отчей воды обретать просветленье.

Молоко тишины горы пьют на рассвете.
И гудит, пролетая над рельсами, ветер.
И покуда Байкал существует на свете,
мой народ, у Байкала рожденный, бессмертен.

Результаты (английский) 1:

Hello... My dear friend ...
I want you to read ... Perhaps the worst of anglijsâkom language, but still..
I love larch mountain slopes,
and face wash in the sacred Baikal wave.
My ancestors-nomads shiri green-blue legacy left me
.

deer stones That will tell the steppes?
That tells you the path to the last sea?
Swept times. And thanks to centuries of
for lakeside wonder in the taiga space.

Coming through the leaves of a light on the spring.
Splatters white splashes of blue eternity.
I do not know where this tenderness in me
to nabežavšej on elastic wave.

Not be ancestral to the valley bottom under water?
Krone Cedars-not whether ancient arrows plumage?
sumburnom century in happiness is-
here, at his native water prosvetlen′e.

Milk to silence the mountains drunk at dawn.
and buzzing, flying above the Rails, the wind.
And as long as there are in the world, Baikal
my people, the Baikal is born,


immortal.

Результаты (английский) 2:

Hi ... my dear friend ...
I want you to read ... maybe at worst angliysyakom language, but still these lines ..
I love larch mountain slopes,
and wash your face in the holy Baikal Wave.
My ancestors - nomads width green -
blue legacy left to me. deer stones tell steppes? What tells the way to the Last Sea? the rush times. And thanks to centuries for a miracle in the taiga lakeside expanse. exude Rhododendron light in the spring. splatters white splashes blue eternity. I do not know where this tenderness in me came running to the shore of the elastic wave. Not Valley whether ancestors at the bottom under water? Crohn cedars - Do not ancient arrows feathers? There muddled century happiness is - here, paternal water acquire enlightenment. Milk drink silence mountains at dawn. And buzzing, flying over the rails, wind. Baikal And while there is in the world, my people, born in Lake Baikal immortal.

Результаты (английский) 3:

Hey ... my dear friend ...
I want to tell you read ... it is possible for the very poor англиисяком language, but all I think these lines..
i love high-mountain shrub formations mountain slopes,
and the person Osama in the holy Baikal wave.
My ancestors - nomads brick green -
blue legacy left behind me.Lord that herding Chukchi stones tell made from flour?
that Amour will lead the way to the last sea?
has swept across times. And thank you for the deposit Mingacheir
miracle in culinary novelties spoken.

Identical багульника beam in spring.
Брызжет white splash blue eternity.
I do not know where to me the curiosity
to набежавшеи on shore elastic wave.Lord is not the valley whether ancestral homes in the bottom of the under brim?
Krone lloret - not whether or not the ancient boom beauty parlor?
is in сумбурном century happiness is -
here, water lust apr просветленье.lord milk drink silence mountains at dawn.
and hums, flying over the rails, wind.
And as long as there is a lake in the light of the,
my people, the Lake Baikal was born, over human beings.