City of splendour, city of poor,
spirit of grace and servitude,
heaven’s vault of palest lime,
boredom, granite, bitter cold —
still I miss you rather, for
down your streets from time to time
one may spy a tiny foot,
one may glimpse a lock of gold.
Город пышный, город бедный,
Дух неволи, стройный вид,
Свод небес зелёно-бледный,
Скука, холод и гранит —
Всё же мне вас жаль немножко,
Потому что здесь порой
Ходит маленькая ножка,
Вьётся локон золотой.
«I’ve cut open my veins: irrevocably, / Irreplaceably gushes life. / Bring forth dishes and bowls! / Any bowl will prove too small / Any dish — too shallow. / Filling up and overly / Feeding reeds, through the earth rushing. / Inconceivably, irrevocably, / Irreplaceably, verse is ...»
«I died. The sycamores gave shade; / shutters were shut upon the dust / of the hot streets steamily teased / by the torrid Aeolus. / / I slowly walked, and the fauns walked; / It seemed as though I recognised / the great god Pan in every faun. / Good. I must be in Paradise. / / ...»
«I died. The sycamores and shutters / along the dusty street were teased / by torrid Aeolus. I walked, / and fauns walked, and in every faun / god Pan I seemed to recognize: / Good. I must be in Paradise. Shielding her face and to the sparkling sun /...»
«And you, my dear friends, ones of the last selection, / My life was saved to ever mourn you. / Not, like a willow, to cool in lamentation, / But cry your names the whole planet through! But what of names! / We are together always! / All on yo...»