The fifth act of the drama
Blows in the wind of autumn,
Each flower-bed in the park seems
A fresh grave, we have finished
The funeral-feast, and there’s nothing
To do. Why then do I linger
As if I am expecting
A miracle? It’s the way a feeble
Hand can hold fast to a heavy
Boat for a long time by the pier
As one is saying goodbye
To the person who’s left standing.
Пятым действием драмы
Веет воздух осенний,
Каждая клумба в парке
Кажется свежей могилой.
Справлена чистая тризна,
И больше нечего делать,
Что же я медлю, словно
Скоро свершится чудо?
Так тяжелую лодку долго
У пристани слабой рукою
Удерживать можно, прощаясь
С тем, кто остался на суше.
«I do not know you and do not want / Our meeting to wipe away illusion / With a face like this in worse abysses / One is still faithful to the starlight. / / Everyone marked by fate / Has their face closed. / You, a page in a book still unread / And never you can turn a slave. / ...»
«A mouth like blood, green eyes, / And a smile, haggardly evil... / Oh, there’s no hiding it, I see: / You’re the pale moon’s beloved. Even in daytime, over you did not weaken / The night legends of distant childhood, / That is why you are no one’s from birth, / That is why you h...»
«— “In your soul there is ebb and flow!” / You said yourself, you understood it on your own! / Oh, how you, disbelieving the hours, / Could judge me for a moment’s happiness? What shall the impending minute bring? / Whose distant image shall surface out of sleep? / A happy day, and...»
«Why do elks and rabbits cavort through the forest? / Drawing away? / The people ate the bark of the asp, / The green sprouts of firs… / Wives and children wander through the woods, / Collecting birch leaves / For their schi, okroschka and borsch, / Fir tops and silvery moss, — / ...»