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.
«As a white stone in the well's cool deepness, / There lays in me one wonderful remembrance. / I am not able and don't want to miss this: / It is my torture and my utter gladness. I think, that he whose look will be directed / Into my eyes, at once will see it whole. / He will become more ...»
«But there’re, somewhere, the simple life and light, / Warm, gay and absolutely clear… / There, speaks a neighbor through the fences, light, / With a sweet girl, and only bees can hear — / The gentlest talking of this kind. But here we live — the solemn ones and toilsome — / And...»
«(From the "Middle Night Poems") Which a sonata will you be / Hidden by me in — with a care? / How uneasily, for me / Will call you, utterly unfair / Because so close and so good / You were for me, tho’ for a moment… / Your dream — dissolving in a solvent, / Where death —...»
«We know what is now on History’s scales, / What is, in the world, going now. / The hour of courage shew our clock’s hands. / Our courage will not bend its brow. / None fears to die under the bullet’s siege, / None bitters to lose one’s home here, — / And we will preserve you, O...»