So since the dawn I’ve nothing said
Of song sung by my dream.
One fate there is for rose of red
And me and flitting beam.
The snows drift from the sloping hills,
And whiter I’m than snow,
But sweetly of creeks’ muddy spills
The banks are dreaming so,
And spruce grove’s sparkling whisper’s sound
Than dawning thought is calmer found.
Бывало, я с утра молчу,
О том, что сон мне пел.
Румяной розе и лучу,
И мне — один удел.
С покатых гор ползут снега,
А я белей, чем снег,
Но сладко снятся берега
Разливных мутных рек,
Еловой рощи свежий шум
Покойнее рассветных дум.
«How is living with another? / Simpler? The thud of oars! — / Memories of me soon start to / Drift like wave-lines by the shores, I’m the island in the distance, / (Not on water! — in the sky!) / Souls! — You’re destined to be sisters / And not lovers in this life! How is li...»
«“I’m not leaving! — This isn’t the end!” And she clings and clings... / But in her breast — the swell / Of looming waters, / Of notes... Count on it: sealed as / A sacrament: we’re bound to leave each other!»
«And only one time with a foam / Wave is rising and falling down. / And heart can't live with parting tone, / There's no a betrayal — only love. We can be angry or be playing, / Or lying - but the heart is silent. / We never could produce betrayal: / The soul is one — and love is on...»
«There is a freedom blissful in a twilight / From the marked ciphers of a century, of year, day. / When? - that's not important. Here's the entrance, rather, / Into the depth of park, into the fires' flash. Not in a moisture, satiating flower, / Nor in the trees, full with a feel of love, / ...»