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.
«I know you not and in no way / I want to lose illusions starry / With such a face in holes most dreary / People are loyal to a ray. All that the fate has marked for grave / Have such closed-off face instead. / You are a page that was not read / And no, you will not be a slave. A slave...»
«Homes reach the stars, the sky's below, / The land in smoke to it is near. / Inside the big and happy Paris / Remains the secretive despair. The evening boulevards are noisy, / Gone are the sundown's final rays, / And there are couples everywhere / Trembling of lips, daring of eyes. I'...»
«Christ and the Lord! I thirst for marvel / Now, here, as the day would start! / The life is like a book to me, / So let me die. Let me depart. You're wise, and sternly "Now be patient, / Your time's not ripe", you will not say. / Yourself you gave me — too much now! / I thirst at once...»
«Evening noise in the burning sunset / On twilight of winter day. / The third call. Hurry, remember me, / You that are going away! / Emerald wave is awaiting you, / Splash of an oar of blue, / To live our life underground, difficult, / Was not possible to you. / Well then, ahead, that...»