All’s taken away: my love and my power.
The body, thrown into city it hates,
Finds no joy in the sunlight. With every hour,
The blood grows colder in my veins.
The merry Muse is lately full of grief:
She looks at me and doesn’t make a sound.
She lays her head, wearing the darkened wreath,
Upon my chest, exhausted and worn out.
Each day, my conscience rages in a daze:
It fumes, desiring a grand donation.
I used to answer it while covering my face…
But I’ve got no more tears or explanations.
Все отнято: и сила, и любовь.
В немилый город брошенное тело
Не радо солнцу. Чувствую, что кровь
Во мне уже совсем похолодела.
Веселой Музы нрав не узнаю:
Она глядит и слова не проронит,
А голову в веночке темном клонит,
Изнеможенная, на грудь мою.
И только совесть с каждым днем страшней
Беснуется: великой хочет дани.
Закрыв лицо, я отвечала ей…
Но больше нет ни слез, ни оправданий.
«Yes, you remember, / You certainly remember / The way I listened / Standing at the wall / As you walked to and fro about the chamber / Reproving me / With bitter words and all. / / You said / That it was time we'd parted, / And that my reckless life, / For you, was an ordeal, ...»
«I'm a shepherd, and my parlours / Are the ruffled pasture sides, / Slopes of verdant hills and furrows, / Balks, with booming cry of snipes. / / Yellow foamy clouds are trimming / Pine-tree wood with lace designs, / While I listen, lightly dreaming, / To the whisper of the pines...»
«I'm back at home. My dear land / Is pensive, spreading all around! / The twilight waves its snow-white hand / To greet me from beyond the mound. / / The grizzle of the gloomy day / Is floating by over my home, and / The evening fills me with dismay / Like insurmountable torment. ...»
«Now my grief won't be spilt by the ringing, / Happy laugh of the bygone last. / Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming / And the nightingale dawns have passed. / / All was new to me then, and emotions / Filled my heart to the brim, so good. / Whereas now every word, kind and cautio...»