I went into the night to know
The distant stir, the nearby chatter,
To give myself to nothing, so
I might believe in dream-hooves’ clatter.
The road in pallid moonlight seemed
With footsteps now to be resounding.
There only someone’s shadow streamed
And sank behind the hills surrounding.
I listened and I caught the sound
Amidst the lunar splotches’ tremble
Of far-off horse-hooves’ echo’s pound,
And whistling light did not dissemble.
From here and further sounded strain
And fell my heart to soft contention —
Oh whence did come that knock’s refrain
And voice that caught my ears’ attention?
And now the hooves the louder were,
And milky charger towards me hurtled…
And who was silent now was clear
And who on empty saddle chortled.
I went into the night to know
The distant stir, the nearby chatter,
To give myself to nothing so
I might believe in dream-hooves’ clatter.
Я вышел в ночь — узнать, понять
Далекий шорох, близкий ропот,
Несуществующих принять,
Поверить в мнимый конский топот.
Дорога, под луной бела,
Казалось, полнилась шагами.
Там только чья-то тень брела
И опустилась за холмами.
И слушал я — и услыхал:
Среди дрожащих лунных пятен
Далеко, звонко конь скакал,
И легкий посвист был понятен.
Но здесь, и дальше — ровный звук,
И сердце медленно боролось,
О, как понять, откуда стук,
Откуда будет слышен голос?
И вот, слышнее звон копыт,
И белый конь ко мне несется...
И стало ясно, кто молчит
И на пустом седле смеется.
Я вышел в ночь — узнать, понять
Далекий шорох, близкий ропот,
Несуществующих принять,
Поверить в мнимый конский топот.
«I quivered. I flared up, and then was extinguished. / I shook. I had made a proposal — but late, / Too late. I was scared, and she had refused me. / I pity her tears, am more blessed than a saint. I stepped into the square. I could be counted / Among the twice-born. Every leaf on the ...»
«The muffled sound of the fruit / that carefully broke from a branch, / amid the incessant chant / of the silence deep in the woods...»
«A basilica stands where Roman justice / judged another nation: displaying its nerves, / as joyful as Adam to have stood there first, / the light cross-vault plays with its muscles. / / But a secret scheme is revealed outside: / the strength of the saddling arches forestalls / the buck...»
«We live, but feel no land at our feet, / nor ten steps off any whisper of speech. / Where half a conversation finds enough lips, / it’s the Kremlin-Climber our thoughts are with. / His weighty fingers as greasy as worms, / true as a dumbbell tumble his words. / His laughing moustache i...»