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.
«In vain, inside the promised branches hiding, / Your tender retinue thunders above. / I drop a myrtle that did love so many, / I drop the belt that did so sweetness love. With a dumb arrow that is heavily piercing / Freed me from these my shackles your own son. / Thus at the very throne o...»
«How many, how many of them, white and blue / Eat from the hands! / Whole kingdoms are clucking around your lips / O Lowliness! In gold of cup the deadly sweat / Does not translate. / The mantle-wearing general will vanish / Like dove of white. Every cloud like a chest circles / In a...»
«This my youth! O this my alien youth! / This my alien youth, my boot unpaired! / Purposefully narrowing the inflamed eyes, / Thus a leaf from calendar they tear. From among your very acquisitions / Nothing took away the thoughtful Muse. / You were both a burden and encumbrance / To me. ...»
«Soon from swallows — into sorcerers! / Youth! We will say farewell before then... / We will stand in the wind soul to soul! / My tan one! My sister console! With a skirt of raspberry flare, / You my youth! My dove you are / Tan! Waste of my soul! / You my youth! Dance and console! Wa...»