Her dry lips were tightly closed up.
Three thousand candles swayed.
Thus Princess Eudoxia lay atop
The scented, sapphire brocade.
A tearless mother, bowing down,
Prayed to her for her blind son,
And a voiceless hysteric thrashed about
Lapping for air on the run.
And he, who arrived from the south,
A hunchbacked old man with dark eyes,
Clenched the wall of the stairway, worn out,
Like the door into paradise.
Плотно сомкнуты губы сухие,
Жарко пламя трех тысяч свечей.
Так лежала княжна Евдокия
На душистой сапфирной парче.
И, согнувшись, бесслезно молилась
Ей о слепеньком мальчике мать,
И кликуша без голоса билась,
Воздух силясь губами поймать.
А пришедший из южного края
Черноглазый, горбатый старик,
Словно к двери небесного рая,
К потемневшей ступеньке приник.
«I wrote on paled leaves of the fan / And on the board of slate / And on the river and sea sand, / On glass with a ring and on ice with skates — And on the trunks, a hundred winters old, / And in the end — that everyone would know / That you are loved! Loved! Loved! Loved! — / I s...»
«I desire no love and no honor: / They intoxicate — no falling away! / I don't even desire an apple / Tempting — from hawker's tray.. Something drags behind me like chain, / Soon the thunder will sound in the sky... How I desire — / Oh how I desire — / Very quietly simply to di»
«Others — with eyes or with face full of light, / And I converse with wind in the night. / Not with that Italian / Zephyr oh-so-young — / Russian, blow-through, / A good one, a wide one! Others with all flesh are lost in the flesh, / From dried out lips swallow the breath... / And ...»
«June and July. Part of nightingale tremble. / And we had something of a bird's way, when / The night of the nightingale then disturbing / We — each over ourselves — were frozen. August is tsar. It cares not for a roulade, / It only wants October cannonade. / August is tsar. You do no...»