Night. The city grew calm.
Behind the large window
The mood is solemn and somber,
As if a man is dying.
But there someone stands simply sad,
Troubled by his misfortune,
With an opened collar,
And looks at the stars.
“Stars, stars,
Tell me the cause of grief!”
And he looks at the stars.
“Stars, stars,
Where did such anguish come from?”
And the stars tell him,
The stars tell him everything.
Ночь. Город угомонился.
За большим окном
Тихо и торжественно,
Как будто человек умирает.
Но там стоит просто грустный,
Расстроенный неудачей,
С открытым воротом,
И смотрит на звёзды.
«Звёзды, звёзды,
Расскажите причину грусти!»
И на звёзды смотрит.
«Звёзды, звёзды,
Откуда такая тоска?»
И звёзды рассказывают.
Всё рассказывают звёзды.
«A clear morning, the air is / cool. Lightly you cross / the meadow. And there / on the Oka, a barge / slowly draws by. / Unwilled, a word is / speaking itself, over and over, and / others follow. A bell can be heard / somewhere, faintly / rung in a field. / A wheat field? A field...»
«No need for talk: / my lips are for you to / drink from, / the thick of my hair / hangs heavy for you to / stroke. Please. / And my hands. / For you to kiss. / Or let me / go down into / black sleep.»
«In gardens’ muteness, in spring, in the nights’ mist, / Over a rose sings the nightingale of East. / But doesn’t feel anything nor hear this charming rose, / And to the loving hymn just swings and calmly dozes. / Not in this way you sing for beauty, cold and hard? / Come to your sens...»
«In the mirror is steaming a cocoa cup, / A lace curtain sways, and along / The path to the chaos of garden and steppe / The mirror runs to the swing. There swaying pines needle the air with resin; / There, fussily bending to look / For its glasses, the garden is combing the grass; / The...»