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.
«Hagia Sophia, where the Lord ordained / that the emperors and nations should halt, / that dome of yours hangs on a chain / from the heavens, observers report. The centuries followed Justinian’s lead / when, for the sake of gods that were foreign, / Ephesian Diana allowed him to steal / ...»
«Hagia Sophia, the Lord commanded / That nations and kings should stop here! / For your cupola, in the words of eye-witness, / As on a chain, is suspended from the heaven. Justinian set an example for all ages, / When Diana of Ephesus permitted / To steal for alien Gods / One hundred and...»
«The parishioners are children of dust, / no icons here but the boards / where the psalms of Johann Sebastian / are nothing but numbers in chalk. What clashing voices reside / in disorderly pubs and cathedrals, / but Bach, you exult like Isaiah: / nobody trumps you in reason. High-level...»
«This old man, which is always flying, / Always comes and leaves, / Everywhere lives — both here and there, / With him walking a days and centuries, / And he eats up mountains, drain river, / And gives new life to the worlds, / This old man for mortal evil burden, / To him everyone wa...»