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.
«A collapsed door in the deaf wall, / And the heaps of overturned stones, / And piled upon them scrap metal, / And the depths that unfurl below. / And white ashes fanned by the wind — / That's all: God's voice, "The dead will rise".»
«The poet teaches something, though / Not with the wisdom of his words, / A thing considerably more likely to / Either turn people off or to bore. Whether sweet or bitter, you will have / To test by tasting it on your own. Life; / We all have our own unkind fates: / He teaches us to kee...»
«Today I can see that your gaze is especially sad; / Your hands are especially slender, encircling your knees. / But listen to this: far away, far away, near Lake Chad / A giraffe paces elegantly. A figure of grace and a lifetime of bliss are his boon, / And a magical pattern adorns his magn...»
«Today I can see that your look is especially sad / And your arms are especially fragile, as if made of chaff. / Listen, my dear: far away, by the shores of Lake Chad, / Roams the exquisite giraffe. It was granted the gift of proportion, voluptuous grace, / And its skin is adorned with a pat...»