In the days of my youth she was fond of me,
And the seven-stemmed flute she handed me.
To me with smile she listened; and already gently
Along the openings echoing of the woods
Was playing I with fingers tender:
Both hymns solemn, god-inspired
And peaceful song of Phrygian shepherd.
From morn till night in oak's dumb shadow
To the strange maid's teaching intent I listened;
And with sparing reward me gladdening
Tossing back her curls from her forehead dear,
From my hands the flute herself she took.
Now filled the wood was with breath divine
And the heart with holy enchantment filled.
В младенчестве моем она меня любила
И семиствольную цевницу мне вручила.
Она внимала мне с улыбкой — и слегка,
По звонким скважинам пустого тростника,
Уже наигрывал я слабыми перстами
И гимны важные, внушенные богами,
И песни мирные фригийских пастухов.
С утра до вечера в немой тени дубов
Прилежно я внимал урокам девы тайной,
И, радуя меня наградою случайной,
Откинув локоны от милого чела,
Сама из рук моих свирель она брала.
Тростник был оживлен божественным дыханьем
И сердце наполнял святым очарованьем.
«Night in my own vast town — night / I slip the sleeping house — take flight / Others take me for daughter, bride / Yet I know only — night. / The July wind brushes my path before / A song from someone’s window — hardly at all / And now the wind will blow — till dawn / T...»
«You imagined me. Such isn’t in the world, / Such in the world can’t be. / Neither the doctor cannot heal, nor the poet, — / The shadow of the ghost the day and night is worrying you. / We met in that incredible year, / When the forces of the world had also dried out. / Everything w...»
«There is a beauty in your wine's dark stream, / In wholesome bread that's rising in the oven, / A woman that you see in anguished dreams / And joyously possess once waiting's over. But how to stake a claim on sunsets' tint, / When silence's joined by an unearthly mercy, / The sky is slowl...»
«O beautiful the wine in love with us! / The good bread in the oven — for us baking! / And that woman, who gave torment and fuss. / Whom now we can enjoy — for just the taking! But what to do with this rose sunset over / A sky becoming cold as hues disperse. / Where silence and unearth...»