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.
«To my sister Shura I’ve never seen women so pretty, / But, I must say, at heart I secrete / Not a bad but a good-natured envy / That my own young days you repeat. My cornflower manifest — you are, / And you I shall love evermore. / How is our old cow there now doing, / Munching its...»
«To my sister Shura Come now, sing me the song our mother / Used to sing us long, long ago. / Not regretting hopes now smothered, / I’ll sing the descant that I know. It’s just because the tune’s familiar / That my heart and soul so rejoice, / Hearing as if from the home of our fami...»
«O you snowsleighs! Galloping horses! / By a devil were you devised. / As over the steppe you go coursing. / The sleigh bell laughs till it cries. No barking of dogs, no moon showing, / For miles around waste lands unfold. / My wild crazy life, keep on going, / I’m not irretrievably ol...»
«Whirlwinds of thick snow are riving and splitting, / A chill moon illumines the landscape below. / Once more I see native fields, through the blizzard / I see in the window a light is aglow. We are all vagrants, our needs aren’t extravagant. / What fell to me is my verses’ refrain. / ...»