Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel
With these dear chains, they don't demean;
The nightingale embushed in laurel,
The sylvan singers' feathered queen,
Does she not bear the same sweet plight,
Near the proud rose's beauty dwelling,
And with her tender anthems thrilling
The dusk of a voluptuous night.
О дева-роза, я в оковах;
Но не стыжусь твоих оков:
Так соловей в кустах лавровых,
Пернатый царь лесных певцов,
Близ розы гордой и прекрасной
В неволе сладостной живёт
И нежно песни ей поёт
Во мраке ночи сладострастной.
«For this that your arms I could not more tightly keep — / For this that your tender saltwater lips I've foresaken — / As much as abhorrent to me is this ruin half-asleep — / I must in Acropolis wait till the city awakens. The Aegeans ready the horse in the darkness profound, / With sh...»
«Under a coxcomb of a milky white / Isaac has built a graying pigeon cage / The crozier irritates the graying quiet / Gradations of the air the heart can gauge. There's wandering ghost of century-old requiem / Then the grand bearing of the shroud / Genessarian* darkness in decrepit seine /...»
«That evening organ’s arcing forest didn’t grumble — / The trees sang Schubert to us, their own cradle’s sound. / The windmill whispered, and in tempest’s stirring rumble / Was blue-eyed drunkenness of music’s laughter found. The world of ancient song is coloured green and russet /...»
«Lived Alexander Gertsevich, / Musician and a Jew – / He ground the works of Schubert out / Like diamond, pure and true. He gaily played by day and night / A crackling piece he’d learned, / The one sonata’s tune that he / Had memorised he churned. What, Alexander Gertsevich, / H...»