One day in foggy October
I walked recollecting a song,
(The instance of kissing all over!
Caresses that cannot be wrong!)
At last in the foggy October
There came the forgotten song.
I dreamed I was young and not worried,
And you were as live as a bloom...
My dream took me out and carried
Away from the wind, rain and gloom...
(That's how by our dreams we are scurried...
So will you come back, live as a bloom?)
And then, emerging from darkness,
A staggering youth, comes to me.
(Oh what an amazing likeness
To someone I happened to see!)
Emerging from foggy darkness,
A staggering youth, comes to me.
«I'm tired of roaming — he grouses —
And taking the air, so cold,
Reflecting in mirrors of others
And kissing those girls, young and old...»
I fancied that some day or other
I'd meet him again in this world...
Then, smiling with self assertion,
He vanished for ever more...
Sad image...I had the impression
That I had seen it before...
Perchance it was me whom I saw
Turn up as a mirror reflection?
Однажды в октябрьском тумане
Я брел, вспоминая напев.
(О, миг непродажных лобзаний!
О, ласки некупленных дев!)
И вот - в непроглядном тумане
Возник позабытый напев.
И стала мне молодость сниться,
И ты, как живая, и ты...
И стал я мечтой уноситься
От ветра, дождя, темноты...
(Так ранняя молодость снится.
А ты-то, вернешься ли ты?)
Вдруг вижу — из ночи туманной,
Шатаясь, подходит ко мне
Стареющий юноша (странно,
Не снился ли мне он во сне?),
Выходит из ночи туманной
И прямо подходит ко мне.
И шепчет: «Устал я шататься,
Промозглым туманом дышать,
В чужих зеркалах отражаться
И женщин чужих целовать...»
И стало мне странным казаться,
Что я его встречу опять...
Вдруг — от улыбнулся нахально,
И нет близ меня никого...
Знаком этот образ печальный,
И где-то я видел его...
Быть может, себя самого
Я встретил на глади зеркальной?
«Fine is the wine that is in love with us, / The goodly bread we wait for from the oven, / And woman whom we have possessed, at last, / After we've suffered under yoke her own. But what to do if a red sunset freezes / Above a sky that's drowning in cold, / Where there is silence and uneart...»
«How pleased we are by the entrancing wine / And by the bread that’s waiting in the oven, / And by the woman who can pacify / Our agonies in the delights of loving. But with the sunset’s color of a rose / Above the cool horizon of the sky — / What do we do with that divine repos...»
«Fine is the wine that loves us, / and the bread baked for our sake, / and the woman who lies and loves us / when she’s finished her tweaking games. But sunset clouds, rose / in a sky turned cold, / calm like some other earth? / immortal poems? All inedible, non-potable, un-kissable. ...»
«It's priceless — wine, that falls in love with us, / And bread, that sits for us in oven, — priceless treasure, / And priceless is a woman that, at last, / After all torments, we possess for pleasure. But what to do with clear light of dawn, / When sky's, like heaven, peaceful, deep an...»