I always s like the northern birches:
Their view, so downcast and grave,
The fever, which poor souls scorches,
Cools like the mute speech of a grave.
But yet, the willow, which branches,
With their long leaves, cast in a flood,
Is closer to a dream, that scourges,
And longer lives in our heart.
Deploring groves their own,
Their meadows – with bitter tears,
Tell birches to cold wind alone
Their common sufferings and fears.
Believing that the whole ground
Is motherland of sacred grieves,
The weeping willow all around
Inclines its branches with long leaves.
Берёзы севера мне милы, —
Их грустный, опущённый вид,
Как речь безмолвная могилы,
Горячку сердца холодит.
Но ива, длинными листами
Упав на лоно ясных вод,
Дружней с мучительными снами
И дольше в памяти живёт.
Лия таинственные слёзы
По рощам и лугам родным,
Про горе шепчутся берёзы
Лишь с ветром севера одним.
Всю землю, грустно-сиротлива,
Считая родиной скорбей,
Плакучая склоняет ива
Везде концы своих ветвей.
«Yearning for homeland! Long / Exposed torment! / It’s completely all the same to me – / Where completely alone To be, over which stones to trudge / With a market tote, on the way home, / Into a house that doesn’t know – it’s mine, / As if it were an infirmary, a barracks. It...»
«A pale moon, on the wane, / The air sonorous, dead and clear, / And on the naked, nippy willow / Murmurs a wilted leaf. Catches frost, gets heavier / In the abyss of a quiet pond. / Darkens and thickens / The stirless water. A pale moon on the wane / Is lying dead, / And on the nak...»
«The sick, tired ice, / The sick and slushy snow… / And all is flowing, flowing… / How blithesome is the vernal run / Of mighty turbid waters! / And cries the hoary snow, / And dies the ice. / The air is full of bliss, / And the bell is singing. / From the arrows of spring will ...»
«Riveting our eyes / On the blanching east, / Children of sorrow, children of night, / We wait, to see if our prophet shall come. / We are scenting out the unseen, / And, with hope in our hearts, / Dying, we grieve / Over uncreated worlds. / Our speech is daring, / But condemned to ...»