We met there for the final time again
On the embankment, where we’d always go.
There was high water on the Neva then,
And all were scared that it may overflow
He spoke about the summer and he said
A woman and a poet — too bizarre.
I still recall the Fortress overhead,
And the majestic Palace of the Tsar! —
Because the air was rather strange that evening,
It was miraculous — as if a gift from God.
And at that very moment I was given
The next and final mad song of the lot.
В последний раз мы встретились тогда
На набережной, где всегда встречались.
Была в Неве высокая вода,
И наводненья в городе боялись.
Он говорил о лете и о том,
Что быть поэтом женщине — нелепость.
Как я запомнила высокий царский дом
И Петропавловскую крепость! —
Затем что воздух был совсем не наш,
А как подарок Божий — так чудесен.
И в этот час была мне отдана
Последняя из всех безумных песен.
«I met you and the past / came back to life in my dead heart. / Remembering a golden time, / my heart became so warm. Just as in late autumn / there are days, the transient hour, / when suddenly spring wafts again / and something stirs within us, so, winnowed within by the breath ...»
«I love May’s first storms: / chuckling, sporting spring / grumbles in mock anger; / young thunder claps, a spatter of rain and flying dust / and wet pearls hanging / threaded by sun-gold; / a speedy current scampers from the hills. Such a commotion in the woods! / Noises cartwheel ...»
«I love spring storms — the rain, the lightning — / When in the early weeks of May / Young thunder, playing and delighting, / Resounds and shatters in blue sky. Electric passion bursts and shimmers, / Rain sprinkles, sparkling dust flies on, / In air the pearl strands shine and gl...»
«There is a wistful charm, a tenderness, / Mysterious and soft, in autumn’s even: / The trees in weird and brilliant garments dress, / The gory leaves to whispered talk are given; / Above the sad and orphaned earth the skies / Lie veiled and bleak, the sun’s departure mourning, / And ...»