When you were reading those tormented lines
In which the heart's resonant flame sends out glowing streams
And passion's fatal torrents rear up, —
Didn't you recall a single thing?
I can't believe it! That night on the steppe
When, in the midnight mist a premature dawn,
Transparent, lovely as a miracle,
Broke in the distance before you
And your unwilling eye was to this beauty drawn
To that majestic glow beyond the realm of darkness, —
How could it be that nothing whispered to you then:
A man has perished in that fire!
Когда читала ты мучительные строки,
Где сердца звучный пыл сиянье льёт кругом
И страсти роковой вздымаются потоки, —
Не вспомнила ль о чём?
Я верить не хочу! Когда в степи, как диво,
В полночной темноте безвременно горя,
Вдали перед тобой прозрачно и красиво
Вставала вдруг заря.
И в эту красоту невольно взор тянуло,
В тот величавый блеск за тёмный весь предел, —
Ужель ничто тебе в то время не шепнуло:
«Там человек сгорел!»
«Like a river, I was turned off course / By the cruel and brutal epoch. / My life was counterfeited and it flowed / Into another channel past the other channel. / I never got to know my native shores. / Oh, just how many spectacles I missed, / The curtains rose without me / And without ...»
«Like someone deaf, blind and mute, / For whom, the only thing left / Is the sense of smell, I breathe in / Dampness, mold, inclement weather / And fleeting, transient smoke...»
«Pray before sleep, / That you don’t wake up famous.»
«...And I simply wouldn’t come near it, / Renouncing all earthly goods. / “This place’s” guardian spirit / Became a snag in the woods. In this life, we are all merely guests, / Life, itself, is a habit, no doubt. / I can hear, in the aerial jets, / Two voices conversing aloud. O...»