Wild wind batters
Window-panes,
And hinged shutters
Rudely strains.
Hour of Mass on Easter mom,
Bells far distant, bells forlorn,
Deafness, darkness everywhere;
Only guest, a wind in scorn
Batters on the barrier.
Through the window — void and black;
In the darkness footsteps crack.
There the ice-bound flood breaks free.
There a Bride awaits for me.
How to vile sleep not surrender?
How drive off that guest from here?
Not give up my love so tender
To the cursfcd stranger’s care?
How not throw the world away?
Not despair of everything,
If my only guest’s a wind,
Nothing but a wild black wind
On my household battering?
Why, wind, batter
Window-pane?
And hinged shutter
Rudely strain?
Дикий ветер
Стёкла гнёт,
Ставни с петель
Буйно рвёт.
Час заутрени пасхальной,
Звон далёкий, звон печальный,
Глухота и чернота.
Только ветер, гость нахальный,
Потрясает ворота.
За окном черно и пусто,
Ночь полна шагов и хруста,
Там река ломает лёд,
Там меня невеста ждёт…
Как мне скинуть злую дрёму,
Как мне гостя отогнать?
Как мне милую — чужому,
Проклято́му не отдать?
Как не бросить всё на свете,
Не отчаяться во всём,
Если в гости ходит ветер,
Только дикий чёрный ветер,
Сотрясающий мой дом?
Что ж ты, ветер,
Стёкла гнёшь?
Ставни с петель
Дико рвёшь?
«A ghostlike scene is glimmering / Weak choirs of shades remain / With silk has draped Melpomene / Her temple's windowpanes / Frost crunches in the yard / Black chariots stand in row / People and objects are disheveled / Street crackles with hot snow. Bit by bit the servants pick apart...»
«To me the meaning of Venetian life is clear / Bleary though it be and fruitless; / Here she stares with smile instilling fear / Through the dirty bluish window glass. Thinning air, blue veins through skin of arm, / A green brocade and the whitening snow / From the coat they take a corpse,...»
«It is a pity that the winter falls / Mosquitoes fly no more / But you, my dear, allowed me to recall / Light-headed straw. Dragonflies weave paths across the blue / And like a swallow, circles mode — / Is that there a basket over you / Or pompous ode? I wish not to advise, comment, d...»
«Here is the discus, like a golden sun — / A blessed moment - in the air it stands — / The world is held in time like apple in one's hands — / Here will be heard only the Grecian tongue. A solemn zenith of the service to God's will, / Light of round cupolas glows in July, / That with...»