Strange boy, I’ve gone mad at last,
Wednesday, around three!
On my ring finger, a wasp
Stung me angrily.
I accidentally squeezed my grip,
And it died, I think,
But sharper than a spindle’s tip
Was its poisoned sting.
Strange one, is it you I’ll mourn,
And will your smile linger?
Look! How beautifully adorned
Is this ring upon my finger!
Я сошла с ума, о мальчик странный,
В среду, в три часа!
Уколола палец безымянный
Мне звенящая оса.
Я её нечаянно прижала,
И, казалось, умерла она,
Но конец отравленного жала,
Был острей веретена.
О тебе ли я заплачу, странном,
Улыбнется ль мне твоё лицо?
Посмотри! На пальце безымянном
Так красиво гладкое кольцо.
«Open, Open, / The gates of the tsar! / Darkness dimmed and poured out far. / With clean heat / Burns the altar — / Resurrect, Christ, / Yesterday's tsar! Without glory fell / Two-headed eagle. / Tsar — you were wrong. He'll remember inheritance / Many more times — ...»
«Let us now praise freedom's twilight, / The glorious twilit year! / Into the midnight boiling waters / A massive forest of snares is lowered. / You rise above obscure years, — / O sun, O judge, my people. Let us praise the fateful burden / The people's leader takes up tearfully. — /...»
«Brethren, let’s praise the dusk of freedom / With its great year of twilit gloom, / Its hefty grove of dangling snares / Cast into the night’s jet-black waters! / From under a deaf age’s yoke / You rise, O sun! O judge! O folk! And let us praise the fatal burden / Taken up in tear...»
«Whoever kisses time’s ancient nodding head / will remember later, like a loving son, / how the old man lay down to sleep / in the drift of wheat outside the window. / He who has opened the eyes of the age, / two large sleepy apples with inflamed lids, / hears forever after the roar of ...»