When my daydreams cross the brink of long-lost days
To find you there again, within the mist of memory,
I weep sweet tears, like the first Hebrew who gazed
Upon the promised land beyond the boundary.
I don't regret the childish games or quiet dreams
Stirred up so painfully and sweetly by your presence
During those days when I discovered what first love means:
A chaotic rush of feelings, restless
Hours, the pressure of a hand, and shining eyes,
The murmur of our innocent, senseless patter
Accompanied now by giggles, now by tender sighs —
These seemed to us the echo of true passion.
Когда мои мечты за гранью прошлых дней
Найдут тебя опять за дымкою туманной,
Я плачу сладостно, как первый иудей
На рубеже земли обетованной.
Не жаль мне детских игр, не жаль мне тихих снов,
Тобой так сладостно и больно возмущённых
В те дни, как постигал я первую любовь
По бунту чувств неугомонных.
По сжатию руки, по отблеску очей,
Сопровождаемым то вздохами, то смехом,
По ропоту простых, незначащих речей,
Лишь нам звучащих страсти эхом.
«The sky’s azure lacquer is waning / And you can hear the ocarina play. / She’s just a little fife who’s made of clay, / What is the cause for all of her complaining? / Who left all of my sins for her exposed? / And why does she forgive me anyhow? / Or is a voice reciting to me now ...»
«Instead of wisdom — experience was / My fresh, non-quenching glass. / My youth was Sunday prayer’s words… / Could I forget my past? How many deserted roads were trod / With him, who wasn’t dear, / How many times did I bow to God, / For him, who was sincere… I have become forg...»
«Ah! Here you come again. Not as a smitten youth, / But as a man who’s stern, unbending and uncouth, / You walk inside and barely look up at me at all. / The calm before the storm is frightening to my soul. / You ask me what it was that I have done to you, / Who offered up yourself, with ...»
«The muse went on her way, / Autumnal and steep all through, / Her suntan legs were sprayed / With luminous drops of dew. I tried and begged her to brave / The winter and not to leave. / She only replied: “It’s a grave, / How can you even breathe?” I wanted to give her a dove / ...»