In days gone by, when all of life's
Impressions offered me new thrills:
A murmurous grove, a maiden's eyes,
The nightingale in twilit hills....
When my sublimest aspirations
For freedom, glory, love and art
Instilled of holy inspiration,
So stirred the blood and spurred the heart,
Then were the days of bliss and promise
With wakeful anguish overcast,
As secretly a wicked Genius
Began to visit me unasked.
Grim were the meetings that we had:
His witching glance, the grins he stole,
The sting of every word he spat
Infused cold poison through my soul.
With indefatigable slander
He tempted Providence, and smiled.
Beauty he called a simple fancy,
And inspiration he reviled.
He doubted freedom, love, salvation
And turned on life a sneering gaze,
As there was naught in all Creation
He cared to bless with any praise.
В те дни, когда мне были новы
Все впечатленья бытия —
И взоры дев, и шум дубровы,
И ночью пенье соловья,—
Когда возвышенные чувства,
Свобода, слава и любовь
И вдохновенные искусства
Так сильно волновали кровь,
Часы надежд и наслаждений
Тоской внезапной осеня,
Тогда какой-то злобный гений
Стал тайно навещать меня.
Печальны были наши встречи:
Его улыбка, чудный взгляд,
Его язвительные речи
Вливали в душу хладный яд.
Неистощимой клеветою
Он провиденье искушал;
Он звал прекрасное мечтою;
Он вдохновенье презирал;
Не верил он любви, свободе;
На жизнь насмешливо глядел —
И ничего во всей природе
Благословить он не хотел.
«Among the worlds, while planets flicker above / I keep repeating the name of One Star in the universe… / Not because I am madly in love / But because the others bore me to death. If I can’t endure doubt, / I beg only Her to answer / Not because She brings light, / But because with...»
«Everything here will outlive me, / Even the houses of the stare / And this air I breathe, the spring air, / Ending its flight across the sea. / / Unearthly invincibility… / The voice of eternity is calling, / And the light moon’s light is falling / Over the blossoming cherry-tre...»
«When the moon lies like a piece of Chardush melon / On the windowsill and it's hard to breathe, / When the door is shut and the house bewitched / By an airy branch of blue wisteria, / And there is cool water in the clay cup, / And a snow-white towel, and the wax candle / Is burning, as i...»
«And the stony word fell on my bare, / My still breathing, my still living breast. / Nevermind. I knew. I was prepared. / I will cope with it. I'll do my best. / I have work, that cannot be postponed: / To destroy my memory. And then / I must turn my soul into a stone. / I must start to...»