Coated with moss a grey granite
Sprawls there prostrated like Titan
Fallen amid rocks and stones
Fitting a lock on the chasm;
Still the wild violent flow
Rushes downward through the obstacles
Casting on wet blackened boulders
Pearls of a nice sparkling foam.
Look! — how quickly a branch is
Advancing approaching the abyss!
Look! — how badly it’s being
Thrown to the stones, drawn in deeps!
Now, again it’s appeared!
But vain is a faint and vague hope —
The drear black chasm for the fallen
Never comeback would provide!
While watching the flow of the torrent
Discover: afar it's calms down —
It is for the heaven to look at
Its wonderful beauty reflected.
Why! — there it is, that branch sunken!
It’s drifting stright off the dark abyss,
Carefree of the dreadful adventures,
Along the nonstop timeless water.
Там, как сраженный
Титан, простерся
Между скалами
Обросший мохом
Седой гранит
И запер пропасть;
Но с дикой страстью
Стремится в бездну
Через препоны
Поток гремучий
И мечет жемчуг
Шипучей пены
На черный брег.
Смотри, как быстро
Несется ветка
К кипучей бездне,
Как струйка сильно
Ее кидает
С прозрачной мели
На острый камень. —
Мелькнула! — Полно!
Из черной бездны
Возврата нет.
Слежу глазами
За быстрым током.
Как присмирел он
Там, в отдаленьи;
Как будто небо
В нем хочет видеть
Свою красу.
Смотри: та ветка,
Что там исчезла
В пучине лютой,
Плывет так тихо,
Так безмятежно
По вечной влаге.
«I died. The sycamores gave shade; / shutters were shut upon the dust / of the hot streets steamily teased / by the torrid Aeolus. / / I slowly walked, and the fauns walked; / It seemed as though I recognised / the great god Pan in every faun. / Good. I must be in Paradise. / / ...»
«I died. The sycamores and shutters / along the dusty street were teased / by torrid Aeolus. I walked, / and fauns walked, and in every faun / god Pan I seemed to recognize: / Good. I must be in Paradise. Shielding her face and to the sparkling sun /...»
«And you, my dear friends, ones of the last selection, / My life was saved to ever mourn you. / Not, like a willow, to cool in lamentation, / But cry your names the whole planet through! But what of names! / We are together always! / All on yo...»
«There are faces so rich as the portals / Where the great is felt apart in the small. / There are faces that similar to the wretched hovels / Where the liver they cook and get wet the maw. / The others are cold or almost have the dead faces, / Closed by grates, like a dungeon that is so da...»