The evening sky is gold and vast.
I’m soothed by April’s cool caress.
You’re late. Too many years have passed, —
I’m glad to see you, nonetheless.
Come closer, sit here by my side,
Be gentle with me, treat me kind:
This old blue notebook — look inside —
I wrote these poems as a child.
Forgive me that I felt forsaken,
That grief and angst was all I knew.
Forgive me that I kept mistaking
Too many other men for you.
Широк и жёлт вечерний свет,
Нежна апрельская прохлада.
Ты опоздал на много лет,
Но все-таки тебе я рада.
Сюда ко мне поближе сядь,
Гляди весёлыми глазами:
Вот эта синяя тетрадь —
С моими детскими стихами.
Прости, что я жила скорбя
И солнцу радовалась мало.
Прости, прости, что за тебя
Я слишком многих принимала.
«To G. Chulkov I wander more and more about the city. / More and more see Death. And I smile / A reasonable smile. Well, what of that? / So I would have it. It is my nature thus to know / That death will come to me too, in its time. I walked along the road beside the races. / The golden d...»
«With this evening lake I hold discourse in the high / Harmony of song. In the slender thicket / Of high pines, from ramparts of sand, / From among graves and tombs where icon-lamps / Shine, and dusk is a smoky blue-gray, I send her loving songs. / She does not see me, nor need she. / Li...»
«I do not like the empty vocabulary / Of love, its shabby phrases — “You’re mine,” “Yours,” / “I love you,” or “I’m yours forever.” / I do not like slavery. With a free glance / I look into a lovely woman’s eye, / And say, “Tonight, yes. But tomorrow / Is a new a...»
«A blizzard sweeps the streets, / Coiling and staggering. / Someone gives me a hand, / Someone smiles at me, Leads me until I see a deep, / Enclosed by somber granite, / And this deep flows and sings, / And calls like an accursed spirit. I draw near, I withdraw, / I stand stock-still,...»