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.
«The poet teaches something, though / Not with the wisdom of his words, / A thing considerably more likely to / Either turn people off or to bore. Whether sweet or bitter, you will have / To test by tasting it on your own. Life; / We all have our own unkind fates: / He teaches us to kee...»
«Today I can see that your gaze is especially sad; / Your hands are especially slender, encircling your knees. / But listen to this: far away, far away, near Lake Chad / A giraffe paces elegantly. A figure of grace and a lifetime of bliss are his boon, / And a magical pattern adorns his magn...»
«Today I can see that your look is especially sad / And your arms are especially fragile, as if made of chaff. / Listen, my dear: far away, by the shores of Lake Chad, / Roams the exquisite giraffe. It was granted the gift of proportion, voluptuous grace, / And its skin is adorned with a pat...»
«Today I can see that your eyes are especially sad, / And the arms, that are hugging your knees, are so gentle, my love. / Just listen, in a faraway land by a lake called the Chad, / Wanders an elegant giraffe. His elegant body is shining in afternoon heat. / It's covered with a beautifu...»