I know, there’s my death. And you
Already does not spite me more,
You’ll condescend from clear blue
To end of my sad earthly dole.
But love of yours is dark to me
And strange your passion’s declaration.
Can one’s heart find the names to be
The strange words’ and caresses’ mention?
What if you find the looked for words,
And in my now-late affection
At my leave for the other worlds,
I’d pray for novel resurrection?
Я знаю, смерть близка. И ты
Уже меня не презришь ныне.
Ты снизойдешь из чистоты
К моей тоскующей кончине.
Но мне любовь твоя темна,
Твои признанья необычны.
Найдешь ли в сердце имена
Словам и ласкам непривычным?
Что, если ты найдешь слова,
И буду в позднем умиленьи
Я, умирающий едва,
Взывать о новом воскресеньи?
«Three women — drunk, staggering, muddy — / Supporting each other, they go. / The belfries in murkiness shudder, / The crosses on churches tilt low. When heard their talk, mixed and crazy, / That sounds like song, high and hoarse, / They giggle — the coachmen, lazy, / They pass by...»
«I like the evening light, and lights, that first inflamed, / And the pale sky, where the stars are not, yet, here. / Oh, how strange are looks of men in slow shade: / They simply look at me without shame and fear. And I am their kin, forgetting their sins, — / The sins of passing men, so ...»
«Don't think of something small or earthly, / If blasts a fateful storm above — / And don't be shameful of your fear, / Just bend your head before your dear. / Your pliant heart is joining, gladly, / The Genesis by means of love. Your love comes like a cloud, potent. / Pray, when you'v...»
«Not only in lives of the gods and demons, / the power of a number opens itself. / Pythagoras By ways, prohibited for humane meditations, / The prophets, dreamers, sibyls and diviners, / Out of consciousness, oozed into habitation, / Where reign in glory the majestic numbers. An intuition...»