Here is the long-bided hour: the labor of years is accomplished.
Why should this sadness unplumbed secretly weigh on my heart?
Is it, my work being done, I stand like a laborer, useless,
One who has taken his pay, alien to unwonted tasks?
Is it the work I regret, the silent companion of midnight,
Friend of the golden-haired Dawn, friend of the gods of the hearth?
Миг вожделенный настал: окончен мой труд многолетний.
Что ж непонятная грусть тайно тревожит меня?
Или, свой подвиг свершив, я стою, как подёнщик ненужный,
Плату приявший свою, чуждый работе другой?
Или жаль мне труда, молчаливого спутника ночи,
Друга Авроры златой, друга пенатов святых?
«I love a thunder — storm at the beginning of May, / when spring’s first thunder, / as though play, in a frolic, / rumbles in the blue sky. The young peals of thunder rattle. / Now it is drizzling, / dust is flying, pearls are hanging, / and the sun is gilding the treads. A swift to...»
«I love a thunder-storm in May / When here the first spring’s early thunder, / As though a joyful part of play, / Roars in the blue sky in its grandeur. Being strong and young, it’s thundering, / Look, rain has started, dust is flying, / The rainy pearls have hung as strings, / The s...»
«I'm thinking about morning of Your glory, / About morning of your days, / When suddenly You as demon had awoken / From dream, as god to every men. I'm thinking about brows on Your face, / Met together, as the torches of Your eyes, / And the lava of Your blood of ages, / That along Your ...»
«— "I have come to take your place, sister, / At the high fire in the forest’s heart. / / Your eyes have grown dull, your tears cloudy, / Your hair is grey. / / You don’t understand the songs birds sing / Anymore, nor stars, nor summer lighting. / / Don’t hear it when th...»