Not the snake fangs, but the stinging
Heartache emptied out my veins.
A quiet girl, I call love, singing
Birdlike in the whitened plains.
The other road closed long ago,
My prince — in a fortress, up high,
Will I betray him? — I don’t know!
But my life on this earth is a lie.
I won’t forget how he bid me farewell
I didn’t cry; I knew it was fate.
To visit his dreams, I’m casting new spells
But my spells are in vain, I’m afraid.
Does he sleep so serenely, locked in,
All because I’m barred and locked out,
Or is the bright-eyed tender Sirin
Already singing to him from a cloud?
Хорони, хорони меня, ветер!
Родные мои не пришли,
Надо мною блуждающий вечер
И дыханье тихой земли.
Я была, как и ты, свободной,
Но я слишком хотела жить.
Видишь, ветер, мой труп холодный,
И некому руки сложить.
Закрой эту черную рану
Покровом вечерней тьмы
И вели голубому туману
Надо мною читать псалмы.
Чтобы мне легко, одинокой,
Отойти к последнему сну,
Прошуми высокой осокой
Про весну, про мою весну.
«I'll no more go roaming, no more seeking, / No more crushing goose-foot in the bushes. / With the bun of your oatsheaf locks / You have vanished from my dreams for good. With red berry juice on your cheeks. / Beautiful and gentle, you were / Like the pink dawn in the evening skies / And...»
«Wait for me and I'll come back, / Wait and I'll be back. / Wait through tedium yellow rains. / Wait through snow haze. / Wait through unbearable summer gaze. / Wait when the others wait not, / Wait when no letters you'll get, / Wait when there will be no hope / Wait when all others w...»
«Louder than crosses and trumpets, / long christened by fire and grime, / Archangel, your clumsy footsteps / resound on the quay of time. Vladimir! steed and still horseman, / by law and caprice both drawn, / how you’d tease, spitting into the palms of your hands, / "Here I come, heavy...»
«So they don't expect / letters. So they wait for — / a letter. A ragged scrap / circled / by sticky tape. Inside — a scribble, / and happiness. / And that’s all. So, they don’t expect / happiness. So they expect — / the end. A soldierly / salute, and / three slugs o...»