Плачет сок грозда; болит виноградная лоза; воздыхают все, веселившиеся сердцем.
The new wine dries up and the vine withers; all the merrymakers groan.
The wine mourns, the vine languishes, all the merry-hearted sigh.
The new wine mourns, The vine decays, All the merry-hearted sigh.
The grapevines waste away, and there is no new wine. All the merrymakers sigh and mourn.
The new wine mourneth, the vine languisheth, all the merryhearted do sigh.
The new wine fails, the vine languishes, All the merry-hearted sigh.
The new wine mourneth, the vine languisheth, all that were merry-hearted do sigh;