The spring is breaking river ice,
I feel no pity for the dead:
Upon new summits now I rise,
Forgetting ravines, now my eyes
Reflect blue distances ahead.
In smoky flames, I’ll feel no woe,
I won’t be grieving by the crosses,
I wait here for a sudden blow,
Or the divine to be bestowed
Upon me from the bush of Moses!
Весна в реке ломает льдины
И милых мёртвых мне не жаль:
Преодолев мои вершины,
Забыл я зимние теснины
И вижу голубую даль.
Что сожалеть в дыму пожара,
Что сокрушаться у креста,
Когда всечасно жду удара
Или божественного дара
Из Моисеева куста!
«For distant shores of homeland / You left this alien land; / In that never-forgotten hour, that time of grief / I wept long before you. / With hands turned to ice / I tried to keep you with me; / My cries begged you to postpone / The dreadful anguish of parting. / But from my bitter ...»
«Quietly fades the evening light, / The mountains’ golden glow, / The sultry air begins to cool, — / Sleep you now, my child. The nightingales’ song has long been heard, / Signalling the dusk, / And softly comes the sound of strings, / Sleep you now, my child. Angels’ eyes look ...»
«Tell me, / My beloved sickle, / Why you are now as black / As my hair? Is it because you’ve been sprinkled / With the tears of a maiden / Grieving for the loss / Of her dearest one? In the wide steppes / Of the quiet-flowing Don / The green grass / Has long ago been mown; The...»
«Willow tree, why do you bend your branches / Down to the water / And with leaves a-tremble / Like thirsty mouths / Try to catch the running stream? Useless for every leaf to strain / And flutter above the stream, / The waters rush and plash along their way, / Gaily sparkling in the su...»