It’s not sombre or funereal,
It’s nearly as transparent as smoke,
This newlywed’s obsolete
Filmy, black and white hat.
And the aquiline profile beneath,
The satin of Parisian bangs,
And an eye, oblong and green,
And an eye, sharp and intense.
Он не траурный, он не мрачный,
Он почти как сквозной дымок,
Полуброшенной новобрачной
Черно-белый легкий венок.
А под ним тот профиль горбатый,
И парижской челки атлас,
И зеленый, продолговатый,
Очень зорко видящий глаз.
«Foreseeing you, as years are passing by — / Your image is unchanged in my perception. / I cannot bear the lucid, blazing sky, / And so I wait — in love and in dejection. / The sky is blazing, — you will soon appear, / But how I fear: You image will be changed, / And the suspicion...»
«The spring is breaking river ice, / I feel no pity for the dead: / Upon new summits now I rise, / Forgetting ravines, now my eyes / Reflect blue distances ahead. In smoky flames, I’ll feel no woe, / I won’t be grieving by the crosses, / I wait here for a sudden blow, / Or the divi...»
«You would cut the lagoon with your oar. / You and I, we would meet up at sunset. / I fell in love with the dress that you wore, / All my prior ambitions were nonsense. Left alone, we would quietly sit, / And our silence was awkward and moody. / On the shore, evening candles were lit. / ...»
«The wooden barge of life / Somehow ran aground. / Far away, the screams / Of the crew resound. / On the shallow river, / There’s alarm and song. / Suddenly, a peasant, / Powerful and strong, / Turned the wooden rudder, / And let the sails spread, / Sent the boat-hook flying, / ...»