The snow melts, brooks run with babbles, —
The spring is coming fine and earnest…
Before long whistles of nightingales
Will sound in a dressed up forest.
In clear azure of the sky
The sun full brilliance is getting,
The cold snowy season has passed by,
Again the warmth is being set in.
The heart beats freely in the breast,
As if it is awaiting something,
Anticipating gentle caress
And worrying about nothing!
All souls are glad to meet this term —
“Spring!” — you can grasp through their eyes’ glow;
It is a holiday for them
Whose life is just a toil and woe.
Still children’s mirth and birds’ uproar,
Merged into harmonized sensation,
Reveal to me that they much more
Delight in nature’s renovation.
Уж тает снег, бегут ручьи,
В окно повеяло весною…
Засвищут скоро соловьи,
И лес оденется листвою!
Чиста небесная лазурь,
Теплей и ярче солнце стало,
Пора метелей злых и бурь
Опять надолго миновала.
И сердце сильно так в груди
Стучит, как будто ждет чего-то,
Как будто счастье впереди
И унесла зима заботы!
Все лица весело глядят.
«Весна!» — читаешь в каждом взоре;
И тот, как празднику, ей рад,
Чья жизнь — лишь тяжкий труд и горе.
Но резвых деток звонкий смех
И беззаботных птичек пенье
Мне говорят — кто больше всех
Природы любит обновленье!
«Rock and rock me, starry boat! / My head is weary of breaking waves! For too long I’ve lost my moorings, — / My head is weary of thinking: Of hymns — of laurels — of heroes — of hydras, — / My head is weary of pretensions! Lay me out among grasses and pine-needles, — / My he...»
«How this matter came to an end / Neither love nor friendship can say. / With every passing day you reply less directly, / With every passing day you disappear more deeply. Until, you’re undisturbed by anything now, / — Only the tree riffles its branches — / As if you’ve fallen int...»
«Early yet — to no longer be! / Early yet — to no longer burn! / Tenderness! A brutal lash / Of Underworld encounters. However deep your inclination — / The sky — is a fathomless vat! / O, for such a love it’s / Early yet — to not feel wounded! Life is alive with jealousy! /...»
«I’ll be late to our fixed / Appointment. Having stopped spring / In time, into the bargain — I’ll be grey. / You’ve fixated too much on this! I’ll walk for years — and never falter / In my Ophelia’s taste for bitter rue! / I’ll walk through hills — and hayricks, / I’...»