Run-down and worn from daily rambles
I will forsake the bustling whims
To bring to mind the sores of troubles
And stir the former, bygone dreams...
If only I could breathe instilling
The joy of spring into her soul!
Oh no, I do not aim at killing
Her childish idleness at all!
I'd better keep my soul from striving
To her unearthly heights, alas,
Where happiness appears shining,
But it is not designed for us.
Усталый от дневных блужданий
Уйду порой от суеты
Воспомнить язвы тех страданий,
Встревожить прежние мечты...
Когда б я мог дохнуть ей в душу
Весенним счастьем в зимний день!
О нет, зачем, зачем разрушу
Ее младенческую лень?
Довольно мне нестись душою
К ее небесным высотам,
Где счастье брежжит нам порою,
Но предназначено не нам.
«I still recall the wondrous moment: / When you appeared before my sight / As though a brief and fleeting omen, / Pure phantom in enchanting light. In sorrow, when I felt unwell, / Caught in the bustle, in a daze, / I fell under your voice’s spell / And dreamt the features of your face...»
«O blazing Muse of pure satire! / Come forth on my inviting call! / I do not need the thundering lyre, / Give me the scourge of Juvenal! / And neither lifeless imitators / Nor hungry, gluttonous translators, / Nor rhymesters, unsatisfied, / Shall fester from my pen tonight. / Peace to...»
«I love you, — though I rage anew / And struggle in vain, distressed, / And at your feet, I now confess / This foolishness to you! / This ill befits my age, and I… / Should know: enough’s enough! / But all the symptoms here imply / That I am plagued with love: / Without you near...»
«I have endured my desire, / I've ceased to love my fairy dreams, / And only fruit of hearty fire — / My sufferings have stayed, it seems. And under storms of cruel kismet / My blooming spirit quickly died, / I waited for the end, I missed it. / I'm feeling loneliness inside. So that ...»