The city sleeps, wrapped in the haze,
The streetlamps barely glimmer...
And I can see the morning rays
Beyond the Neva, start to shimmer.
This distant and opaque reflection,
This gleam of the awaking blaze
Conceals the nearing resurrection
Of dreary, melancholy days...
Город спит, окутан мглою,
Чуть мерцают фонари...
Там, далёко за Невою,
Вижу отблески зари.
В этом дальнем отраженьи,
В этих отблесках огня
Притаилось пробужденье
Дней тоскливых для меня...
«One time, having been tossed on the edge of all, / That was existing, I felt in my body / The presence of a shadow, that earlier / Was moving somewhere my life so firmly. Nobody knew, the only note-book marked that, / I'd blown out candles in the moment, / Which for the speech creation we...»
«to Akhmatova You shut out my sun in the sky, / The stars are all in your palm! / Ah, if only, the door slamming wide, / Like a wind could I in come! / / And babble, and hotly blush, / And down the shy eyes cast, / And a half-sob hush — / Like a child — forgiven at last.»
«The bread’s poisoned and the air’s drunk up. / How hard it is to treat wounds; / Joseph sold into Egypt / couldn’t have suffered more! Under a starry sky, Bedouins, / eyes closed and on horseback, / shape private epics / about the day they’ve lived through. They don’t need in...»
«Name of yours sounds — bird-in-hand clung, / Name of yours sounds — icily on tongue. / On single-smackingly implosive lips / Name of yours sounds — five caps. / Ball that’s catapulted and caught, / A silveringly bell-clapped retort. Thrown, a stone into tranquil pond — / Sob...»