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 Byron) / / My heart is in a gloom. Be fast, Oh bard, be fast! / There is a harp of gold: / And let your fingers, that on strings are cast, / Wake sounds of the God's Abode. / And if a cruel fate kills hopes not at once, / They'll wake up in...»
«I want to live; I crave for sadness — / Against my bliss and love, in truth; / They sank my mind in idle gladness / And made my brow very smooth. It's time for high life's derogation / To blow away the hazy peace; / What is bard's life, void of desolation? / And what are void of tempe...»
«The blackened skies have reached the garden walk; / Yet my poor heart tonight cannot be not the restless… / The lights that have been failed, the lost of sounds talk, / Are they the remnants of the dream in sadness? Oh, how sad it was, the satin of her dress, / Her breast was very white, ...»
«They faded, the last bands of reddish, / Like whispers of prayers in night, / O tale, such seductive and maddish, / What else do you want of this heart? Are not, beyond measure and count, / So hard in the snows my ways? / Aren’t gray empty spaces around? / Isn’t husky the ring of t...»