So when I retire from the timeline stream
Abandoning censure and praise
Remember the kindness, the warmhearted dream
I lived on and bloomed in those days.
My darling, I know You"ll forget all the spite
There used to be on my part,
When You, like a swan, appeared, snow-white,
Impaling the depth of my heart.
I wasn't the one who had wounded Your pride,
It was someone else's design.
Dark clouds would trouble my day and my light,
Your day was brighter than mine.
So when I retire from this lifetime string
And vanish beyond the blue grid,
You will remember the song we would sing, —
I'd sing it, and You would repeat.
Когда я уйду на покой от времен,
Уйду от хулы и похвал,
Ты вспомни ту нежность, тот ласковый сон,
Которым я цвел и дышал.
Я знаю, не вспомнишь Ты, Светлая, зла,
Которое билось во мне,
Когда подходила Ты, стройно бела,
Как лебедь, к моей глубине
Не я возмущал Твою гордую лень —
То чуждая сила его.
Холодная туча смущала мой день, —
Твой день был светлей моего.
Ты вспомнишь, когда я уйду на покой,
Исчезну за синей чертой, —
Одну только песню, что пел я с Тобой,
Что Ты повторяла за мной.
«A human body ‘s bare; / A singleton, god’s jesting. / The soul is bloody weary / Of such a solid casing. / A silver dollar matches / Its eyes, and rivals ears, / The skin — all scars and scratches — / Stretched to the bones adheres. Out through the eyes aspired / Into the sk...»
«I The auguries don't bother me, and signs / Don't scare me off. I don't evade the slander / Or poison. Since — there is no death. / We are immortal — everything's immortal. / One shouldn't be scared of death, be it at nine — / Or ninety. There is only life and light — / The uni...»
«Each moment was for us a celebration / As ceremony of consecration — / Just us in the whole world... You would spring / As full of dare and flight as a falcon on the wing / Heady as vertigo in one breath taking motion. / You hurried down to where you would bring / The two of us behind ...»
«Everyone's gone. All that’s left, at the parting, / Is the confusion of leaves outside. / Now I am left with as little as a rustling, / Mumbling of autumn in my house tonight. Summer had slipped as a trembling needle / Out of the numbed hand of silence itself; / And disappeared in the d...»