Already beautiful on the bookshelf
Your well-situated sister is set,
But over you is debris of starry hoards
And under you are fiery coals.
How you prayed, how you wanted to live,
How you dreaded the scathing fire,
But all at once your body began trembling,
And your voice, flying off, swore at me.
And just like that, the pines began to rustle
Making reflections in the deep moonlit water,
While around the fires of the sacred spring
Already you led the round-dance across the graves.
Уже красуется на книжной полке
Твоя благополучная сестра,
А над тобою звездных стай осколки
И под тобою угольки костра.
Как ты молила, как ты жить хотела,
Как ты боялась едкого огня!
Но вдруг твое затрепетало тело,
А голос, улетая, клял меня.
И сразу все зашелестели сосны
И отразились в недрах лунных вод.
А вкруг костра священнейшие весны
Уже вели надгробный хоровод.
«Across skies of midnight an angel did fly, / While singing a melody softly; / The moon and the stars and the dark clouds on high / Were at ease as they hearkened to holiness lofty. He sang of the bliss of all wraiths without sin / Who dwell in lush gardens nirvanic; / He sang of Great God...»
«Pure is the sky in the gloaming, / Clear are the faraway stars, / Clear as a happiness is in a child. / O why am I forbidden to think: / Stars, you are clear as my happiness! What makes you unhappy? / The people might ask me. / What makes me unhappy, / Kind people, is this: / That s...»
«Fair is the evening sky, / Clear are the stars in the distance, / As clear as the joy of an infant. / Oh, why can’t I tell myself even in thought: / The stars are as clear as my joy! What is your trouble? / People might query. / Just this is my trouble, / Excellent people: the sky a...»
«Shagane, dear my, Shagane! / It’s because I’m from North, isn’t it, / I am ready to tell you a field, / Wavy rye, when the Moon shining there. / Shagane, dear my, Shagane. It’s because I’m from North, isn’t it, / Where the Moon has enormous size, / And despite all the charm ...»