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!
«A snow hive cleaner than the air, / Crystal more see-through than the glass / A turquoise veil adorned with brass / Carelessly tossed upon a chair. A cloth made drunk of her own glow / Caressed by tenderness of light / Experienced the summer bright / As though it were the winter snow. ...»
«Blackened wind weaves patterns hollow / Under barely breathing leaves / And a trembling little swallow / In dark skies a circle weaves. Quietly argue in the heart / Dear, dying, mine despite, / An impending dusk apart / Of an ebbing ray of light. And above the woods of dusk / Has ari...»
«Why is the soul so lyrical / And so few are the names I love / And the ready rhythm but a miracle / Like Aquillon from above? He will raise clouds of dust in a hurry / He will leaf through the paper stack / And he will not come back — or maybe / As another he will come back? Winds of...»
«Perhaps you not need me not this minute, / Night; from sea foams of the world — / A shell without a pearl within it — / Upon your shores I have been hurled. With mists the ocean you embellish / And wordlessly you sing as well; / But you will love, and you will cherish / The pretense...»