There was only one flower there,
Aromatic and unraveled...
Zhukovsky
I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear meadows
All is good, as dreams, and blest.
Here they rice: the clover clear,
And corn-flower's gentle lace,
And the rustle is always here:
«Ears are leaning... Take your ways!»
In this immense sea of fair,
Only one of blades reclines.
You don't see in misty air,
I'd seen it!It will be mine!
Там один и был цветок,
Ароматный, несравненный…
Жуковский
Я стремлюсь к роскошной воле,
Мчусь к прекрасной стороне,
Где в широком чистом поле
Хорошо, как в чудном сне.
Там цветут и клевер пышный,
И невинный василек,
Вечно шелест легкий слышно:
Колос клонит… Путь далек!
Есть одно лишь в океане,
Клонит лишь одно траву…
Ты не видишь там, в тумане,
Я увидел — и сорву!
«to Zh. B. I have a shabby jacket on, / It’s rather old and quite worn out. / I ask the tailor to come round / and alter it before too long. / / I tell him playfully: "You see, / the jacket needs an alteration, / the art and skill of dress creation / will bring the best of luck to...»
«to Olya I‘ve never hovered and I’ve never been / up in the clouds where I’ve never been. / I’ve never visited and I‘ve never seen / cities and towns which I’ve never seen. / I’ve never modeled and I’ve never had / jars which I’ve never modeled and had. / I’ve never w...»
«When all at once the sound of trumpet / resounds, yet unclearly heard, / the word impetuously flushes / escaping lips like a night bird. / And music, like a casual shower, / meanders rumbling up above, / the little orchestra of wishes / ...»
«The squeaking pencils softly roll / for peace and quiet of my soul. / They squeak incessantly, with care, / but give a cry they do not dare. / / My soul is burning , getting hot, / but what’s a pencil worth? Yes, what? / Abiding by the rule / it will tranquil my soul. / / ......»