In the terrace-restaurant garden
the music rang out like an audible pang of regret,
expressing without words a sadness
greater than words could express.
The oysters, on their plate of crushed ice,
gave off a fresh clean sea-reek.
He said he was truly my friend
as he let his had graze my dress;
that touch of his didn’t feel the least bit like a caress.
He petted me, just as one would a dog,
as one strokes a parakeet’s feathered head;
his smile was calm, superior, golden laughter
was in his eyes, under their blond lashes.
He was pleased and at ease, as people are
when they watch lady circus riders perform.
The sighing slides of the violins,
their emotion-soaked vibratos hung in the air
like the stratocumulus of cigarette smoke,
low and blue.
I knew the words that went with that tune,
grotesque as a wedding-day dirge,
“O heaven-blessed day, the very first time
you’re alone with the one you love.”
Звенела музыка в саду
Таким невыразимым горем.
Свежо и остро пахли морем
На блюде устрицы во льду.
Он мне сказал: «Я верный друг!»
И моего коснулся платья.
Так не похожи на объятья
Прикосновенья этих рук.
Так гладят кошек или птиц,
Так на наездниц смотрят стройных...
Лишь смех в глазах его спокойных
Под легким золотом ресниц.
А скорбных скрипок голоса
Поют за стелющимся дымом:
«Благослови же небеса —
Ты в первый раз одна с любимым».