White churches stand tall and there’s resonant, glistening ice,
And the cornflower-blue is abloom in my son’s precious gaze.
Nights strung with diamonds hang high on the ancient town’s heights,
More yellow than linden-flower honey the sickle-moon’s rays.
Dry blizzards blow in from the fields past the faraway river,
And people, like angels, rejoice in the Lord’s Holy Day.
They’ve tidied the parlor, lit icon lamps, flames all aquiver;
They’ve placed the Good Book on a table of oak, and they pray.
There dour-faced memory, forthrightness now apt to abhor,
Did open her sanctum sanctorum and bowed low to me;
But I ventured not in, and I slammed shut the hideous door,
While the town was suffused with the bells of Nativity’s glee.
Там белые церкви и звонкий, светящийся лёд,
Там милого сына цветут васильковые очи.
Над городом древним алмазные русские ночи
И серп поднебесный желтее чем липовый мёд.
Там вьюги сухие взлетают с заречных полей,
И люди, как ангелы, Божьему празднику рады,
Прибрали светлицу, зажгли у киота лампады,
И Книга Благая лежит на дубовом столе.
Там строгая память, такая скупая теперь,
Свои терема мне открыла с глубоким поклоном;
Но я не вошла, я захлопнула страшную дверь;
И город был полон весёлым рождественским звоном.
«Here're the girls — they wish to love, / Here're the boys — they wish to wander, / All changes in that april just unite, / Consoloidate the people with each other. O, the new month, the new such Lord, / You seek in such a way new favour, / You may be generous in your words, / Letti...»
«Outside, the blizzard sets in deep / And all its polish coats. / The paper seller is asleep, / Her kiosk, drifting, floats. Not once we’ve happened to observe / In our lives’ lengthy course, / The snowfall comes with shy reserve / To trick our eyes perforce. Concealing unrepentantl...»
«Snow is falling, falling down. / The geraniums are trying / To befriend the sparkles flying / Past the window’s woven bound. Snow is falling, all’s in action, / Smitten, taking off the ground: / The black stairs, the intersection, — / All is being lost and found. Snow is falling...»
«Snowing on, snowing on. / On a windowsill, the flower / Of geranium's reaching out for / Starlets of the snow beyond. Snowing on and all’s in chaos, / All's engaged into a twirl: / Wooden footsteps of back stairs / And a snowbound crossroad turn. Snowing on, snowing on. / Like inst...»