How the chest breathes, fresh, voluminous –
Words are incapable of expressing a thing!
How in the ravines at midday loudly
Into milky froth cascade rivulets!
The ether pulses and melts with song.
In the planted field rye gathers green –
And a gentle voice is heard humming:
“You will outlive yet another spring!”
Как дышит грудь свежо и емко —
Слова не выразят ничьи!
Как по оврагам в полдень громко
На пену прядают ручьи!
В эфире песнь дрожит и тает.
На глыбе зеленеет рожь —
И голос нежный напевает:
"Еще весну переживешь!"
«To N.G. Chulkova There are such days before the spring: / When meadows rest beneath the snow, / And dry and cheerful branches swing / When gentle warm winds blow. / You marvel at your body’s lightness / And do not recognize your home, / You sing again with new excitement / The song ...»
«The fifth of the year’s seasons / One can’t extol it enough. / Breathe before freedom ceases, / All because, it is — love. / High up, the sky elevates, / The contours of things are light, / And the body won’t celebrate / The anniversary of its plight.»
«I myself had all the say / In my dear friend’s destiny: / On Annunciation Day, / I released him pensively. / But the blue-grey dove decided / To soar back to me, / Now, with archangel’s robe alighted, / The room gleams brilliantly.»
«You dreamt of me, I knew, / And hence, I couldn’t sleep. / The lantern flickered blue / And there, my path ran steep. You saw tsarina’s garden / And palace, and approached / The fence’s old black pattern, / Next to the stony porch. You ran, not knowing the way, / And thought: ...»