My husband beat me with the plating
Of a belt he bent in two.
With a candle, I keep waiting
On the windowsill for you.
It is dawning. Smoke is weaving,
Rising up above the forge.
O, for me, a captive grieving,
You, again, did not emerge.
It’s for you such fate I bear,
Filled with torment and ordeal,
Did you fall for someone fair?
Does a redhead now appeal?
How to mask such ringing moaning!
Heart is stifled, drunk with dread,
As the thin rays of the morning
Graze the still unrumpled bed.
Муж хлестал меня узорчатым,
Вдвое сложенным ремнём.
Для тебя в окошке створчатом
Я всю ночь сижу с огнём.
Рассветает. И над кузницей
Подымается дымок.
Ах, со мной, печальной узницей,
Ты опять побыть не мог.
Для тебя я долю хмурую,
Долю-муку приняла.
Или любишь белокурую,
Или рыжая мила?
Как мне скрыть вас, стоны звонкие!
В сердце темный, душный хмель,
А лучи ложатся тонкие
На несмятую постель.
«She has not taken her first sigh — / She is the word and music both — / And thus of all that lives and grows / A timeless and unbroken tie. Placidly breathe the breasts of sea / The day is bright, as if gone mad, / The sea foam's pallid lilacs stand / In vase of lapis lazuli. O, wo...»
«She has yet to be born: / she is music and word, / and she eternally bonds / all life in this world. / / The sea breathes gently; / the day glitters wildly. / A bowl of dazed azure / sways pale foam-lilac. / / May I too reach back / to that ancient silence, / like a note of...»
«— She’s at the riverbed, in algae, covered / With weeds... She went to sleep there, / But there’s no dream there, as it happens. / — But I loved her, / Loved more than forty thousand brothers / Ever could have loved! / — Hamlet...»
«— She's — She's in the riverbed, in algae / And weeds...She went to them / To sleep, — but there's no sleep there, either! / — But she's the one I loved / Like forty thousand brothers / Couldn't love! / — Hamlet! / She's in the riverbed, ...»