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.
«Dedicated to I. D. Rudinsky Sun’s golden arc / Hot like a red coal, / Sent down its spark / And it warmed my soul; Although, I am not sure / Now, I hope that I could / Expect from my future / To bring something good; The warmth brought me back / To life, the light illuminated me /...»
«Blossom wite bird cherries scatter / On the on the dewy grass like snow. / Hungry rooks in ploughland gather, / Picked warms up as they go. Low the silk smooth grath is bending, / Pitch scents to the pine-trees cling. / Groves in leaf, and luscios meadows — / How the senses reel in sp...»
«Still around, old dear? How are you keeping? / I too am around. Hello to you! / May that magic twilight ever be streaming / Over your cottage as it used to do. People write how sad you are, and anxious / For my sake, though you won't tell them so, / And that you in your old-fashioned jack...»
«Die Gleichmasigkeit des Laufes / der Zeit in allen Kopfen beweist mehr, / als irgend etwas, das wir Alle in den- / selben Traum versenkt sind, ja das es / Ein Wesen ist, welches ihn traumt. / Schopenhauer By life tormented, and by cunning hope, / When my soul surrenders in its battle wi...»