I clasped hands in the veil’s saving darkness...
“Why your face got the pallor today?”
That’s because I filled him with tart sadness,
made like drunken, and gotten a sway.
How can I forget? He left staggered,
lips are bent to significant rate...
I ran down behind like a jogger,
hurried up after him to the gate.
I have choked, and cried out: “That’s hoax —
all what happened. Don’t leave, it’s my wreck”.
But he smiled with a dread; with no joke
said me only: “It’s windy. Get back!”
Сжала руки под темной вуалью...
«Отчего ты сегодня бледна?» —
Оттого, что я терпкой печалью
Напоила его допьяна.
Как забуду? Он вышел, шатаясь,
Искривился мучительно рот...
Я сбежала, перил не касаясь,
Я бежала за ним до ворот.
Задыхаясь, я крикнула: «Шутка
Все, что было. Уйдешь, я умру».
Улыбнулся спокойно и жутко
И сказал мне: «Не стой на ветру».
«Not with the proud kind of beauty / She charms the animated youth, / And she doesn't drag behind her booty — / The crowd of her slaves, confused. Her waist isn't one of any goddess, / Her breast does not rise like sea waves, / And nobody calls her gorgeous, / While falling on his knee...»
«No, not with you I fell in love so fast, / And not for me your beauty is succeeding; / I love in you my suffering preceding, / And youth of mine, that perished in the past. And when sometimes my look is long and hard, / And penetrates your eyes of high perfection; / I'm busy with a secret...»
«No, I'm not Byron; I am, yet, / Another choice for the sacred dole, / Like him — a persecuted soul, / But only of the Russian set. / I early start and end the whole, / And will not win the future days; / Like in an ocean, in my soul, / A cargo of lost hopes stays. / Who, oh, my oce...»
«No matter who you are, my neighbor, always sad, / I like you, yet, as my young years’ friend — / My comrade by a mischance-law — / Though the fate’s manipulative hand / Divided us for time without end, / Now by wall, then — by the unknown. When half-light of the everyday sunris...»