Along that road where brave Donskoi
once led his mighty host to war,
where the wind's mindful of the foe,
the moon's a crescent of yellow,
I walked as if in ocean deep...
The sweet briar so perfumed the air
as if 't were speech itself so rare;
and I was apt at last to meet
the ninth and fatal wave of fate.
По той дороге, где Донской
Вел рать великую когда-то,
Где ветер помнит супостата,
Где месяц желтый и рогатый, —
Я шла, как в глубине морской...
Шиповник так благоухал,
Что даже превратился в слово,
И встретить я была готова
Моей судьбы девятый вал.
«"There lived on earth a humble knight…"1 / / This little book a poet / Gave me in the corridors / Of Gosizdat.2 / The book is torn and tattered, / The poet long since dead. It was said that in his visage / There was something of a bird / And of Egypt-so they said. / He had a be...»
«If I walk the noisy streets, / Or enter a many thronged church, / Or sit among the wild young generation, / I give way to my thoughts. I say to myself: the years are fleeting, / And however many there seem to be, / We must all go under the eternal vault, / And someone's hour is already ...»
«The storm wind covers the sky / Whirling the fleecy snow drifts, / Now it howls like a wolf, / Now it is crying, like a lost child, / Now rustling the decayed thatch / On our tumbledown roof, / Now, like a delayed traveller, / Knocking on our window pane. Our wretched little cottage /...»
«If beasts within a silent forest moan, / if trumpets sound, if thunder rolls and cracks, / Or young girls sing almost inaudibly / For each initial tone / The atmosphere resounds quite suddenly / With a response, your own. You listen to the peal of distant thunder, / The rumbling voice o...»