Books and a pencil case in a strap, as I
Sauntered home, with the school receding.
These lindens, I’m sure, won’t forget the time,
My merry boy, of our very first meeting.
Only now that little cygnet, once gray,
Changed, becoming a haughty swan,
And sorrow descended like an undying ray
On my life, and my voice is gone.
В ремешках пенал и книги были,
Возвращалась я домой из школы.
Эти липы, верно, не забыли
Нашей встречи, мальчик мой весёлый.
Только, ставши лебедем надменным,
Изменился серый лебедёнок.
А на жизнь мою лучом нетленным
Грусть легла, и голос мой незвонок.
«From a Wayfarer's Letters V And this I solemnly declare: / That I have lived no worthless year, / Nor trodden any road for naught, / Nor closed any mind to any thought, / Nor closed my ears to any news, / Nor given gifts where none were due. / Neither do I my Love regret, / Deceived ...»
«There's a season alight with its own, strange shimmer / Of misted sun, most tenderly warm. / People call it / Indian summer / And it rivals the spring itself in charm. Already the flying gossamer's clinging / Lightly, warily round the face... / How full is ...»
«In sheepskin coats of homely peasant cut / From villages far south of the Oka / They came, three strangers. Each had left his hut / To put his case about the way things are. All Russia tossed, distraught by war and famine / With everything confused, disturbed, displaced. / She roared and ...»
«The sparse, untidy, ginger-coloured curls / In meagre whisps about her head lie scattered; / Her little blouse is faded, old and tattered. / She looks a freak among the boys and girls / Playing around her, poor, misshapen creature / With crooked teeth and sharp, ungainly features. / Not ...»