It’s endless — the heavy, amber day!
Impossible grief, pointless waiting!
And the silver-voiced deer, again,
Under the Northern Lights, belling.
And I think there’s cold snow
A blue font for the poor and ill,
And a little sledge’s headlong flow,
To the ancient chime of far-off bells.
Он длится без конца — янтарный, тяжкий день!
Как невозможна грусть, как тщетно ожиданье!
И снова голосом серебряным олень
В зверинце говорит о северном сиянье.
И я поверила, что есть прохладные снег
И синяя купель для тех, кто нищ и болен,
И санок маленьких такой неверный бег
Под звоны древние далёких колоколен.
«to Valentina Serova With glass a thousand miles thick / Parting has glazed the windows of your flat; / And I look through, as from another world, / But not a sound is audible through that. I see you pass and sit down by the window. / You smile at someone; you get up unheard. / You speak....»
«You get from time to time a man / Who's every woman's silent friend — / A friend without ulterior aim, / A friend on whom she can depend. He's like the lifebelt on the deck / Which hangs and waits, for years unheeded, / Until at last it saves a life, / That final moment when it's need...»
«The sense that love is coming's worse / Than love itself. Love is like war — / You've come together, eye to eye. / You're with her — nothing more in store. The approach of love is like a storm: / You feel a dampness in your pores / But still it's calm — the piano's sound / Can y...»
«to Valentina Serova I buried love and doomed myself to be / Its monument. Above the recent grave / Upon myself I carved a dozen lines, / Beyond my strength and posthumously brave. Love, like a runner in the marathon, / Had reached the tape but yet had lost all breath. / My love had lost ...»