Ophelia was singing as she perished,
And she sang while plaiting a wreath;
With flowers, the wreaths, and verses
She sunk down to the riverbed.
So much in sad songs that is tempting,
Insinuates my soul toward dark depths.
So many are the feelings and songs,
The lacrimae and desires to me given.
Офелия гибла и пела,
И пела, сплетая венки;
С цветами, венками и песнью
На дно опустилась реки.
И многое с песнями канет
Мне в душу на темное дно,
И много мне чувства, и песен,
И слез, и мечтаний дано.
«Among the worlds, and in the stellar light / One Star repeatedly I call by name... / And not because She is the one I loved, / But just because the others slake my flame. And if the burden of my doubt is hard / From Her I seek an answer, unimpeded, / Not for the light She's casting as a S...»
«Scorched by the fire of the sky’s unmoving body, / The pick-ax stops clanging out its accursed lesson. / And nailed onto the earth, the piled autumnal haystacks / Of sleeping working-men are black as any downpour. The last decision of some dark and savage forces, / A vertical ray’s call...»
«The all-dressed-up in gold, consumptive-looking gardens — / Where their slow sickness wears magenta-rich veneers. / The late glow of the sun lingering in its brief arches / Having no power to take the shape of fragrant fruit. Also the coarse footprints, the yellow silk of carpets. / The c...»
«There arc the delicate pink ovals / On which the mists of morning flood, / And in unique bouquets unwinding / Steel-colored flowers bloom and bud. For nomad flics they are temptation; / Their gloss hides poisons' virulence... / Intrusive, variegated, idle, / The bare facets of existence...»