The way it used to be, my soul is lighted
By the unfading glow of bygone days.
But early autumn, like a wistful haze,
Has blown a whiff, despairing and blighted.
Dark night. We"re going separate ways.
The sound is distinct, the way it used to be,
And all my sins are in your holy prayers.
Ophelia, my nymph, remember me.
My soul is being vainly filled, in trepidation,
With distant and delightful recollection
Прошедших дней немеркнущим сияньем
Душа, как прежде, вся озарена.
Но осень ранняя, задумчиво грустна,
Овеяла меня тоскующим дыханьем.
Близка разлука. Ночь темна.
А все звучит вдали, как в те младые дни.
Мои грехи в твоих святых молитвах,
Офелия, о нимфа, помяни.
И полнится душа тревожно и напрасно
Воспоминаньем дальным и прекрасным.
«And of you, O my first inclination, / I took leave. The East was coming blue. / “I’ll remember,” you artlessly mentioned. / Not at once then I trusted in you. They arise and they vanish — the faces: / Now you’re here, but afar in the morn. / Why of this only one of all pages, / ...»
«I now stride where none need any more, / Where just a shadow is the best of mates. / From the wild garden waves a wind, remote, / And under feet — the coldness of grave’s steps.»
«The garden's music ranged to me / With dole that's beyond expression. / The frozen oysters smelled with freshness / And sharpness of the northern sea. He told me, "I'm the best of friends!", / And gently touched my gown's laces. / Oh, how differs from embraces / The easy touching of the...»
«In human closeness there is a secret edge, / Nor love nor passion can pass it above, / Let lips with lips be joined in silent rage, / And hearts be burst asunder with the love. And friendship, too, is powerless plot, / And so years of bliss with noble tends, / When your heart is free and ...»