I should have seen the sign: “Fresh paint”,
But useless to advise
The careless soul, and memory's stained
With cheeks, calves, hands, lips, eyes.
More than all failure, all success,
I loved you, for your skill
In whitening the yellowed world
As white cosmetics will.
Listen, my dark, my friend: by God,
All will grow white somehow,
Whiter than madness or lamp shades
Or bandage on a brow.
«Не трогать, свежевыкрашен», —
Душа не береглась,
И память - в пятнах икр и щек,
И рук, и губ, и глаз.
Я больше всех удач и бед
За то тебя любил,
Что пожелтелый белый свет
С тобой — белей белил.
И мгла моя, мой друг, божусь,
Он станет как-нибудь
Белей, чем бред, чем абажур,
Чем белый бинт на лбу!
«The hooves stomped faster, / singing as they trod: / — Grip. / Grab. / Rob. / Grub. — Wind-fostered, / ice-shod, / the street skidded. / Onto its side, a horse / toppled, / and immediately, / the loafers gathered, / as crowds of trousers assembled up close / on the Kuz...»
«When from thine error, dark, degrading, / With words of fiery persuading, / I drew thy fallen spirit out; / And thou, thy hands in anguish wringing, / Didst curse, filled with a torment stinging, / The sin that compassed thee about; / When thou, thy conscience dilatory / Chastisin...»
«Yesterday at six / I stopped by Hay Square; / They were whipping a woman, / A young peasant, there. Not a sound from her breast, / Just the lash, playing, whistled... / And I said to my Muse: / "Look! It's your sister!"»
«What a night! How pure the air, / How silvery the slumbering leaf, / How black the shadow of the bankside willows, / How serenely the bay sleeps, / How still it is — nowhere a wave's sigh — / How full the breast is with silence! Midnight light, you're the same as day: / Except the ...»