When, with a firm but tired hand,
In the dreariest of capitals,
On the page of white I penned
My rejection, unretractable,
And the damp wind from afar
Through the window, streamed inside,
It appeared, the sky was charred
With a smoky-crimson light.
I didn’t gaze at the Neva, pensive,
Or the granite illumined clear,
You, in flesh, — it seemed, I sensed it —
My unforgotten, would appear…
But, the sudden startling night
Cloaked the pre-autumnal town,
As if to help me in my flight,
The ashen shadows melted down.
I only took the cross that you
Gave me the day of betrayal, —
So the steppe would bloom anew
And the winds, like the sirens, wail.
There it is on the empty wall,
Keeping my ravings at bay,
No memories scare me at all
Now, — even the very last day.
Когда в мрачнейшей из столиц
Рукою твердой, но усталой
На чистой белизне страниц
Я отречение писала,
И ветер в круглое окно
Вливался влажною струею, —
Казалось, небо сожжено
Червонно-дымною зарею.
Я не взглянула на Неву,
На озаренные граниты,
И мне казалось — наяву
Тебя увижу, незабытый…
Но неожиданная ночь
Покрыла город предосенний,
Чтоб бегству моему помочь,
Расплылись пепельные тени.
Я только крест с собой взяла,
Тобою данный в день измены, —
Чтоб степь полынная цвела,
А ветры пели, как сирены.
И вот он на пустой стене
Хранит меня от горьких бредней,
И ничего не страшно мне
Припомнить, — даже день последний.
«Do you remember dryness in a throat, / When, clanking with a naked power of evil, / Towards, with shout, they were going, / And autumn was a step of test of being? But rightness was a fence of such a shield, / That no any armour could reach well. / The destiny of Leningrad was yield — /...»
«You have gone. / Another world’s your / home, they say. / Into space… / You fly now / t’wards your stars’ collision. / Sober! / There, there’s no advance, no / beer as pay. / No, Yesenin, / this is / ...»
«You were my life sometime ago. / Then came the war, the devastation. / You vanished, leaving me alone, / Without a trace or explanation. When many years had passed me by, / Your voice awakened me by chance. / I sat and read Your Word all night / And came to life out of a trance. Since ...»
«The Tale of Tsar Saltan, of His Son, the Glorious and Mighty Knight Prince Guidon Saltonovich, and of the Fair Swan-Princess Three fair maidens, late one night, / Sat and spun by candlelight. / "Were our tsar to marry me," / Said the eldest of the three, / "I would cook and I would bake –...»