And we’ve forgotten till doomsdays,
In the wild capital — our prison —
The towns, steppes, dawns and lakes
Of our great land, as if in treason.
In a bloody circle, day and night,
We’re pined by the abusive leisure…
And none to help us in our plight,
Because we’ve stayed at Home, treasured,
Because, with love fully obsessed,
Instead of liberty, that honors,
We have preserved for ourselves
Its palaces, its flames and waters.
They’re closer — the other times.
And deathly wind cools hearts, our own,
But Peter’s-city, to all us,
Will be the sanctified tombstone.
И мы забыли навсегда,
Заключены в столице дикой,
Озера, степи, города
И зори родины великой.
В кругу кровавом день и ночь
Долит жестокая истома...
Никто нам не хотел помочь
За то, что мы остались дома,
За то, что, город свой любя,
А не крылатую свободу,
Мы сохранили для себя
Его дворцы, огонь и воду.
Иная близится пора,
Уж ветер смерти сердце студит,
Но нам священный град Петра
Невольным памятником будет.
«He that hath the bride is the bridegroom: / but the friend of the bridegroom, / which standeth and heareth him, / rejoiceth greatly... / John, III, 29 I am a boy, I light a candle / And keep the incense burning on. / Beyond the river, in a huddle, / She"s laughing in a muffled tone....»
«The way it used to be, my soul is lighted / By the unfading glow of bygone days. / But early autumn, like a wistful haze, / Has blown a whiff, despairing and blighted. / Dark night. We"re going separate ways. / / The sound is distinct, the way it used to be, / And all my sins are in ...»
«My earthly heart gets cold and all, / But I sustain the shivers boldly. / I keep my love of people fondly, / Unanswered reverence, in my soul. / / But love is followed by discord / Which ripens into strong intention / To read oblivion or award / In men's and ladies reflection. / ...»
«As I was growing old and fading, / A poet, used to streaks of grey, / I wanted to postpone the ending / The aged men should face some day. / / A sickly man, a puny creature, / I'm looking for a lucky star, / And in my senile dreams I picture / A lovely image, now so far. / / Pe...»