Fronting amazed Cythera grows
A wondrous ever-blooming rose
Sacred to Venus, dearer far
Than all her votive blossoms are.
The north wind blows when Autumn closes
And Paphos is in ruin laid,
But in a world of fading roses
There grows one rose that will not fade.
Есть роза дивная: она
Пред изумлённою Киферой
Цветёт, румяна и пышна,
Благословенная Венерой.
Вотще Киферу и Пафос
Мертвит дыхание мороза,
Блестит между минутных роз
Неувядаемая роза…
«Broad gold, the evening colors glow, / The April air is cool and tender. / You should have come ten years ago, / And yet in welcome I surrender. Come here, sit closer in our nook, / And turn gay eyes at what my nurses / Might never glimpse: the blue-bound book / That holds my awkward ch...»
«Give me comfortless seasons of sickness, / Visitations of wrath and of wrong / On my house; Lord, take child and companion, / And destroy the sweet power of song. Thus I pray at each matins, each vespers, / After these many wearying days, / That the storm-cloud which broods over Russia / ...»
«Our sacred craft / Has existed for thousands of years. / With it, even without the sun, the world is bright. / But so far not one single poet has said / That there is no wisdom, no old age, / And that perhaps there is no death.»
«A collapsed door in the deaf wall, / And the heaps of overturned stones, / And piled upon them scrap metal, / And the depths that unfurl below. / And white ashes fanned by the wind — / That's all: God's voice, "The dead will rise".»