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.
«In the state there is the law / Citizens cannot ignore. / In the anti-state the sheep / Have a private rule they keep. Under rule of law the folk / Serve what gives them food and drink / But rebellion has no book / And revolt no pen and ink. When rebellion goes to press / When revolt...»
«My beloved! My tricky demon! / You’re so bony, that if you please / A cannibal eating you for luncheon, / Would break his teeth while he was crunchin’. But I am not from such a rude breed / (And anyways a little toothless), / So therefore, without being an annoyance / I’ll eat you...»
«Pain’s quieter — your hand, / Whitebodied color of magnolia — your hand. Love knocked on my door at wintery midday, / And holding a sable fur — your hand. Ah, like a butterfly, touched down on the stem of / My hand for a moment — no longer — your hand! And what my enemies and I ...»
«Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me. / Sappho "Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me" — / Ah, one line of Sappho pierced me like an arrow! / At night I mused over your curly little head, / Passion trading places with a mother’s tenderness in my frantic ...»