My sweet friend, and in this quiet home,
Beats a fever me, the same.
I can’t find a place in quiet home
By its always peaceful flame!
Voices sing, a blizzard calls, I hear,
Comfort is my cross...
E’en behind your shoulders, oh my dear,
Someone’s eyes wait for me close!
There, behind your shoulders so quiet,
The wings’ tremble I feel,
Pierces me with his look of a fire
The storms’ angel — Israfil!
Милый друг, и в этом тихом доме
Лихорадка бьёт меня.
Не найти мне места в тихом доме
Возле мирного огня!
Голоса поют, взывает вьюга,
Страшен мне уют…
Даже за плечом твоим, подруга,
Чьи-то очи стерегут!
За твоими тихими плечами
Слышу трепет крыл…
Бьёт в меня светящими очами
Ангел бури — Азраил!
«My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker. / It has become still better without love, / The sky is tall, the mountain wind is blowing / My thoughts are sinless to true God above. / The sleeplessness has gone to other places, / I do not on grey ashes count my sorrow, / And the skewe...»
«He was jealous, fearful and tender, / He loved me like God's only light, / And that she not sing of the past times / He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: / "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" / And I buried the joyous songbird / Behind a round well near...»
«True love's memory, You are heavy! / In your smoke I sing and burn, / And the rest - is only fire / To keep the chilled soul warm. To keep warm the sated body, / They need my tears for this / Did I for this sing your song, God? / Did I take part of love for this? Let me drink of such a...»
«The blue lacquer dims of heaven, / And the song is better heard. / It's the little trumpet made of dirt, / There's no reason for her to complain. / Why does she forgive me, / And whoever told her of my sins? / Or is that this voice that now repeats / The last poems that you wrote for ...»