The moon illuminates the eaves,
And skims the crests of waves at night…
The chilly hands of the marquise
Are fragrant, delicate and light.
“O Prince! — she curtsies and exhales, —
“In quadrille, you’re the vis-à-vis,” —
The mask conceals her turning pale
From burning love and ecstasy.
The entryway’s obscured by sloping
Poplar trees and hops that fell.
“Baghdad and Constantinople,
I will win for you, ma belle.”
“You are smiling so rarely,
That I’m frightened in advance!”
The cold pavilion is shady.
“Well then! Maybe, let us dance?”
They walk off and lanterns flicker
On the elm and maple trunks.
Clad in emerald, ladies bicker,
Betting gaily with the monks.
With azaleas, Pierrot,
Smirks and starts a friendly chat:
“Prince! Are you the one who broke
The feather on marquise’s hat?”
Луна освещает карнизы,
Блуждает по гребням реки…
Холодные руки маркизы
Так ароматны-легки.
«О принц! — улыбаясь, присела, —
В кадрили вы наш vis-à-vis»1, —
И томно под маской бледнела
От жгучих предчувствий любви.
Вход скрыл серебрящий тополь
И низко спадающий хмель.
«Багдад или Константинополь
Я вам завоюю, ma belle!»2
«Как вы улыбаетесь редко,
Вас страшно, маркиза, обнять!»
Темно и прохладно в беседке.
«Ну что же! пойдем танцевать?»
Выходят. На вязах, на кленах
Цветные дрожат фонари,
Две дамы в одеждах зеленых
С монахами держат пари.
И бледный, с букетом азалий,
Их смехом встречает Пьеро:
«Мой принц! О, не вы ли сломали
На шляпе маркизы перо?»
____
1. Визави (фр.)
2. Моя красавица! (фр.)
«I love your dear eyes, my friend, / With their play so bright and wondrous, / When you promptly rise them, and, / Like with a lightning in the wildness, / Embrace at once the whole land. But there's more fabulous attraction: / The eyes directed to the floor / During the crazy oscu...»
«I love your eyes, dear, / their fiery-playful games, / their sudden upward glances / slowly looking all around / like lightning-flames. There’s a more potent spell: / eyes lower. / A mouth hungers. / Lids almost close. / Sullen arousal glows.»
«Slender are you as a candle. Your eyes are / Swords that pierce mine. No, my sweet, you mistake: / I do not long for a tryst and its wonders — / Just let me burn like a monk at the stake! Your love? Oh, no! — I don't seek it. Nor dare I / Offer unwanted caresses. Apart / From you I st...»
«Tips of blue flame are dancing about, / Home expanses are being neglected. / It's the first time that I’m singing love, / For the first time refusing to racket. I was all like a desolate garden, / I was greedy for women and potions. / Now, I don’t want to sing and to dance, / And t...»