High up, above the sleepy world,
The kite flies round drawing circles
And watching the deserted wold.
At home the mom her sunny suckles:
«Now take it, suck the breast, be good,
Grow, bear your cross of babyhood».
The years fly over, full of drama,
With wars and villages aflame,
But you, my land, are much the same
In all antiquity and glamour.
When will the mother stop deploring?
When will the kite give over hov'ring?
Чертя за кругом плавный круг,
Над сонным лугом коршун кружит
И смотрит на пустынный луг. —
В избушке мать над сыном тужит:
«На́ хлеба, на́, на́ грудь, соси,
Расти, покорствуй, крест неси».
Идут века, шумит война,
Встаёт мятеж, горят деревни,
А ты всё та ж, моя страна,
В красе заплаканной и древней. —
Доколе матери тужить?
Доколе коршуну кружить?
«Night was done. We rose and after / Washing, dressing, — kissed with laughter, — / After all the sweet night knows. / Lilac breakfast cups were clinking / While we sat like brothers drinking / Tea, — and kept our dominoes. And our dominoes smiled greeting, / And our eyes avoided m...»
«Dying is sweet / On the battle-field / In the hissing of arrows and spears, / When the trumpet sounds / And the sun of noon / Is shining, / Dying for country's glory / And hearing around you: / "Hero, farewell!" / Dying is sweet / For an old, venerable man / In the house / On...»
«Below the sultry storm that seemed to lower, / An alien force, again I heard the call / Of my mysterious mate: the prisoned power / Of old dreams flared and flickered in its fall. And with a cry of horror and of dolor — / As of an eagle in an iron vise — / My spirit shook its cage in ...»
«With wavering feet I walked where dawn-lit mists were lying, / To find the shores of wonder and of mystery. / Dawn struggled with the final stars, frail dreams were flying, / While unto unknown gods my morning lips were crying / The prayers that my dream-imprisoned soul had whispered ...»