Streets were empty, it was just another
Boring night!
Why were you so innocent, and rather
Filled with pride?
Drops of soaking darkness falling down...
I will rise,
And I'll throw a challenge, with a frown,
To the skies.
There's no happiness on earth, undoubted,
Here we stand.
Now and then we think about it
Gun in hand...
And again we laugh and shed a tear,
Life goes on!
Well, it's just another day; it's clear:
We'll be gone!
Ночь — как ночь, и улица пустынна.
Так всегда!
Для кого же ты была невинна
И горда?
Лишь сырая каплет мгла с карнизов.
Я и сам
Собираюсь бросить злобный вызов
Небесам.
Всё на свете, все на свете знают:
Счастья нет.
И который раз в руках сжимают
Пистолет!
И который раз, смеясь и плача,
Вновь живут!
День — как день; ведь решена задача:
Все умрут.
«Orioles are in the woods, and vowels' length / In tonic verses is the single measure known. / But only once a year does nature know in strength / Duration in her meter, as in Homer's own. Caesura-like's the yawning of that day's expanse, / Ease and a labored lengthiness from morning on. / ...»
«When learning of the tolls of war, / Of yet another battle victim, / 'Tis not his wife, nor comrades, nor / The very hero whom I pity... / Alas! Time will console the wife, / Fraternities – forget their member. / But for as long as 'tis alive, / One soul will constantly remember. / ...»
«A silver sail, the ocean loner, / Is lurking in the azure mist. / What has she lost in foreign corners? / What in her homeland did she miss? Her mast is clattering and bending / Midst whistling wind and raging wave. / Alas, she seeks no happy ending, / Nor runs from happiness away. ...»
«Love! Precious love! And from the deathbed silence / I'll come alive – allured – abashed – alight. / O, sweetheart! Even in a grave asylum, / And in Elysium we'll stay allied. And do indeed I have this pair of priceless / Strong wings – to hold a bushel on my heart? / The swaddled...»