There a man was burned alive.
Afanasy Fet
How hard to walk among the crowd
with existence’s pretension,
and speak to posterity, aloud,
of the tragic play of passion.
And peering into darkest night,
find form in a chaos of feeling,
so that by art’s anaemic light
they may see life’s fatal gleaming!
Там человек сгорел.
Фет
Как тяжело ходить среди людей
И притворяться непогибшим,
И об игре трагической страстей
Повествовать ещё не жившим.
И, вглядываясь в свой ночной кошмар,
Строй находить в нестройном вихре чувства,
Чтобы по бледным заревам искусства
Узнали жизни гибельной пожар!
«Not bloodshed, nor ills we engender, / Could yet fling a mantle of gloom / On the heavenly palace of splendour, / Or on earth with the lure of its bloom. As of old, we are tenderly ravished / By valleys and blossoms and rills; / Unchanging, the starlight is lavished, / And the tune that...»
«Far above the stretch of hills / The east has flung its lustre round; / Moistened breath of night-time fills / Clods of plough-uprooted ground. See, how with his measured pace / O'er the fields the sower goes; / Calm, as in God's holy place / On earth and in the heaven flows. A sacred ...»
«Man's ponderings and labours, dream-like, pass away, / Heroes will be forgot, and sepulchres decay, — / And all in common dust is merged. / And righteousness and love, and sciences and lore, / As words upon a slate, whose meaning is no more, / By undiscovered hand axe purged. But words ...»
«I view the promised land before me, — / Gleaming of waters, tents of trees. / But anger of the Lord forbore me / To touch the dower I long to seize. I rose from heat and sandy places, / I tasted death in living hours: / My strength so wanes, that it effaces / Within my soul all placid...»