Oh, if I’ve known, when, in dress of whiteness,
Muse was just coming to my living place,
That to the lyre, stoned in the timeless,
My hands’ warm flesh will be forever pressed.
Oh, if I’ve known, when was flying fierce
And playful tempest of my love, the last,
That to the best of youths, in bitter tears,
I’ll close his, like eagle’s, dear eyes.
Oh, if I’ve known, when, by my successes
Pined, I was tempting destiny, discreet,
That soon with laugh, so scornful one and merciless,
Will people answer to my last entreat.
О, знала ль я, когда в одежде белой
Входила Муза в тесный мой приют,
Что к лире, навсегда окаменелой,
Мои живые пальцы припадут.
О, знала ль я, когда неслась, играя,
Моей любви последняя гроза,
Что лучшему из юношей, рыдая,
Закрою я орлиные глаза…
О, знала ль я, когда, томясь успехом,
Я искушала дивную Судьбу,
Что скоро люди беспощадным смехом
Ответят на предсмертную мольбу.
«This will happen, happen, / no way of avoiding this: / the birds will shrill above the town, / orchestras will play, / the air will grow more limpid, / the guns’ thud will be forgotten, / and the army of the frontier / will march home singing. / This will happen, happen — / I b...»
«All the earth, the whole planet, / is one big rush over there... / The road’s as taut / and vibrant as a string. / Wherever they may go, all / are bent on going there, / and no one comes this way, / but always over there, there. I’m left here all alone, / left simply alone. / ...»
«Protect us poets, and guard us well. / What’s left? — a century, a year, a week, / An hour, three minutes, two, nothing at all... / Protect us, but only if all support the one. Protect us though we sin, have joy or none. / Our D’Anthes walks somewhere, young and handsome. / He’s h...»
«Don’t believe in war, my boy, / don’t believe, it’s quite depressing, / it’s as depressing, boy, / as a pair of boots that pinch. Those swift romantic steeds of yours, / they are good for nothing here; / you’re as exposed as an open palm, / and the bullets’ only target.»