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.
«You, measuring me by the days — / With me, the hot and homeless one, / Did you walk on the flaming squares / Under the giant, burning moon? And in the tavern filled with plague, / When solemn waltz a screech did make, / Did you not in a drunken fist / My long and piercing fingers bre...»
«1 Under the sixth birch / At the corner church / On the frosty dawn / Wait, Don Juan! But with groom, alas, / And my life I swear, / There is nowhere / In my land to kiss! We don't have a fountain, / And the well did freeze, / Strict, severe eyes / Does Madonna have. And so th...»
«2 Long upon the foggy dawn / The snowstorm did weep. / In a bed of snow they lay / Don Juan to sleep. No hot stars above his head, / Not a roaring fountain... / Othodox cross is on the chest / Of our Don Juan. I have brought a Sevillian / Fan, black, so that night / That's eternal...»
«3 Aren't you tired, after so many roses, / Cities and toasts / To love me? You're almost a skeleton, / I'm almost a ghost. And why should I know, that you had to call / On a higher power? / And why should I know, that there was smell of Nile / In my hair? No, I better tell you a tale:...»