Forgotten? I’m not even wondered!
Forgotten was I hundred times,
And times, I’m in grave, were too hundred,
May be, my corps now there lies.
And Muse was too deafened and blinded,
Was rotting — a seed — in soils’ mesh,
To rise then to blue of the Highland
Like Phoenix from blackness of ash
Забудут? — вот чем удивили!
Меня забывали сто раз,
Сто раз я лежала в могиле,
Где, может быть, я и сейчас.
А Муза и глохла и слепла,
В земле истлевала зерном,
Чтоб после, как Феникс из пепла,
В эфире восстать голубом.
«The city sleeps, wrapped in the haze, / The streetlamps barely glimmer... / And I can see the morning rays / Beyond the Neva, start to shimmer. / This distant and opaque reflection, / This gleam of the awaking blaze / Conceals the nearing resurrection / Of dreary, melancholy days...»
«Poor naked wretches... / King Leer Outside, behind the window pane, / The angry tempest rages wild, / The clouds rush with gushing rain, / The merciless wind is wailing, riled! A frightening night! On such a night, / I sympathize with all the homeless, / And pity pushes me outside – ...»
«Don’t send for me. No need to call, / I’ll come inside. / Onto my knees, I’ll quickly fall / Down by your side. I’ll tamely wait for your commands / And hear them through, / And treasure every single chance / Of meeting you. Yo...»
«Every night, when the sun just commences to set, / I bid it farewell, while I yearn to be dead, / But again, as the cold, bitter day dawns anew, / Life will take hold of me and the pain will ensue! I part with the good and the evil, in part, / Filled with hope and with dread that I may soon...»