Of love, of hope, of quiet glory
Not long I nursed the self-deceit,
Vanished are adolescent dallies
Like a dream, like the morning mist;
But still desire burns within us;
Beneath the press of fateful power
With impatient soul
We hark the native country's summons.
We bide with yearning expectation
The moment of sacred liberty,
As the young lover bides
The moment of the promised meeting.
The while with liberty we burn,
The while our hearts are quick for honour,
My friend, to our land we dedicate
The soul's exquisite raptures!
Comrade, believe: it will arise,
The star of captivating bliss,
Russia with rouse herself from sleep,
And on the ruins of despotism
Our names will be inscribed!
Любви, надежды, тихой славы
Недолго нежил нас обман,
Исчезли юные забавы,
Как сон, как утренний туман;
Но в нас горит еще желанье,
Под гнетом власти роковой
Нетерпеливою душой
Отчизны внемлем призыванье.
Мы ждем с томленьем упованья
Минуты вольности святой,
Как ждет любовник молодой
Минуты верного свиданья.
Пока свободою горим,
Пока сердца для чести живы,
Мой друг, отчизне посвятим
Души прекрасные порывы!
Товарищ, верь: взойдет она,
Звезда пленительного счастья,
Россия вспрянет ото сна,
И на обломках самовластья
Напишут наши имена!
«In these miniature Russian colonies / Those who are hiding from lawlessness / Their sinful bodies and souls, / Interests are so pitiful / Feelings vicious and hypocritical: / They seek only food and warmth. They all eat — it is only appropriate, / And the warmth in our time is import...»
«O you the ancient rhymes and rhythms, / Seized on by many poets, / The banal, cheap, and puny ones, / Cliches overcooked and boiled! / You sound with the guitar strings, / With rhythms and rhyme impoverished, / Than all new things more beautiful / To my simplistic soul! You were under...»
«I know nothing, I trust in nothing, / I no longer in life see its brighter side. / I approach my friend as if he were a lion / I need nothing else. I am bored and tired. Someone knifes someone, smothers another.. / Everywhere, cheating, lying and greed. / Would eyes not see and would ears...»
«She lies, opening her teats, strong, swollen, wide, / And at her breasts, their equal gift bestowing, / Mad Nero and meek Buddha clutch, unknowing, / As clinging twins who suckle side by side. / She holds two vessels, whence, forever flowing, / The streams of Life and Death serenely g...»