The snowy spring is raging mad,
I look away from the saga;
O, dreadful hour, when she read
The palm extended by Tsouniga.
Into his eyes she aimed her gaze,
There was mockery in her dark eyes,
The row of pearly teeth had blazed,
And I forgot all the days and midnights.
The heart got overflowed with blood,
My homeland memories erasing.
A voice would sing, «With all your being
You’d have to pay me back for love.»
Бушует снежная весна.
Я отвожу глаза от книги...
О, страшный час, когда она,
Читая по руке Цуниги,
В глаза Хозе метнула взгляд!
Насмешкой засветились очи,
Блеснул зубов жемчужный ряд,
И я забыл все дни, все ночи,
И сердце захлестнула кровь,
Смывая память об отчизне...
А голос пел: Ценою жизни
Ты мне заплатишь за любовь!
«Earth-dweller, fifty years of age, / Like all men, both happy and unhappy, / One day I left this world and found / Myself in a silent place. / There, man scarcely existed, the last / Shreds of habit clinging to him, / And he no longer desired anything, / He had no name, no style or tit...»
«The swallow chatters brightly, / Fanning its wings with skill. / It challenges every breeze, / But conserves its forces well. / It hovers high, it hovers low, / Catches a fly as it weaves, / And rests up till morning / In its but under the eaves. In astonishment I follow, / Soar int...»
«I touched the leaves of the eucalyptus / and the firm plumes of the agave, / The sweet grass of Adzharia / Sang me its evening song. / In white dress the magnolia / Inclined its hazy form, / And the blue-blue sea of Georgia / Sang wildly by the shore. But amidst the savage splendou...»
«Upon the hard crest of a snow-drift / We tread, and grown quiet, we walk / On towards my house, white, enchanted; / Our mood is too tender for talk. And sweeter than music, this dream now / Come true, the low boughs of the firs / That sway as we brush them in passing, / The slight silve...»