The voice of the herd rises from the fields;
In the bushes the robins sing,
And a sweet aroma flows
From the whitened apple-trees of the garden.
The flowers gaze with tender melancholy,
Innocently pure, like spring,
Shedding fragrant dust,
The seeds of their rosy fruit.
Sister of the flowers, friend of the rose,
Look me in the eye,
Initiate a life-giving reverie,
Inspire my heart with song.
С полей несется голос стада,
В кустах малиновки звенят,
И с побелевших яблонь сада
Струится сладкий аромат.
Цветы глядят с тоской влюбленной,
Безгрешно чисты, как весна,
Роняя с пылью благовонной
Плодов румяных семена.
Сестра цветов, подруга розы,
Очами в очи мне взгляни,
Навей живительные грезы
И в сердце песню зарони!
«to A. Sakharov That hurricane has passed. Few of have survived. / At the roll call of friendship many are absent. / Again I have returned to the deserted land, / Where I have not been for eight years. Who shall I call? With whom can I share / The melancholy joy, that I stayed alive? / Th...»
«Monotonous dying of the hours: / midnight is telling a tedious tale / in a foreign language we can’t fail / to recognise as ours. Who can claim it never befell / him to hear time’s muffled groans / stab his soul at night, the drone, / when all’s quiet, of a prescient farewell? It...»
«There are twins. For the earthborn / they are gods, Death and Sleep, / like brother and sister wondrously akin, / Death's the gloomier, Sleep is gentler. But there are two more twins: / there are no finer twins in the world, / and there's no fascination more fearsome / than he who's sur...»
«The telephone rang. / “Hello! Who’s there?” / “The Polar Bear.” / “What do you want?” / “I’m calling for the Elephant.” / “What does he want?” / “He wants a little Peanut brittle.” / “Peanut brittle!.. / And for whom?” “It’s for his little Elephan...»