I had a dream: I slept, and I imagined
That I was dead and lost in reverie at that;
And lovingly, that reverie by kind of magic
Had given rise to hope in my depressing heart.
What kind of joy I want, I don't know, really.
There rings the bell, — and all is clarified;
My soul lit up, I understand now clearly,
That happiness is in those sounds all right.
Those sounds are clearer, more transparent,
More joyful than all sounds of the world.
I feel that to those sounds I am carried
To distant cemetery, my last abode.
I feel delight and torment, down and out,
I want to rise and breathe as I look back,
And on the wave of the exultant sound
I'd whirl away and drown in the dark.
Мне снился сон, что сплю я непробудно,
Что умер я и в грезы погружен;
И на меня ласкательно и чудно
Надежды тень навеял этот сон.
Я счастья жду, какого - сам не знаю.
Вдруг колокол — и все уяснено;
И, просияв душой, я понимаю,
Что счастье в этих звуках. — Вот оно!
И звуки те прозрачнее, и чище,
И радостней всех голосов земли;
И чувствую — на дальнее кладбище
Меня под них, качая, понесли.
В груди восторг и сдавленная мука,
Хочу привстать, хоть раз еще вздохнуть
И, на волне ликующего звука
Умчатся вдаль, во мраке потонуть.
«My verse, which was conceived so very early / That of my calling I was unaware, / Which burst, like sparklers, glittering and whirling, / Like fountains in the air, Which burglarized, like little devils, flying / Into the dreamy shrine with incense spread, / My verse, that sang of being y...»
«Grey is the morning, the morning is misty, / Mournful are grasslands all covered with snow. / Out of your wish you’ll get thoughts light and wispy, / Images, feelings you lost long ago. You will remember the passionate speeches, / Glances you longed for and keenly desired, / Greetings...»
«The dull melancholy, and no one to offer a hand / In times of a destitute feeling… / The wishing!.. What good is to wish with no merit or end? / And years keep on passing — the ones most appealing! To love... but then whom?.. For a time, isn’t worth the travail; / Forever, no love has...»
«(fragment) Over my street for many-many years, / sound the steps — my friends leave me forever. / The slow exodus of all my dear friends / takes from the dark by windows its favor. / . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . / Oh, constant loneliness, how hard are manners yours! / ...»