Under a broom, entwined by ivy,
From rain, we’re hiding for the time.
A cloak protects our shoulders slightly,
My arms, around you, intertwined.
No, I was wrong. Among these shrubs,
Not ivy, but green hop has widened.
So, should we spread this cloak, perhaps,
Over the grass for us to lie on?
Под ракитой, обвитой плющом,
От ненастья мы ищем защиты.
Наши плечи покрыты плащом,
Вкруг тебя мои руки обвиты.
Я ошибся. Кусты этих чащ
Не плющом перевиты, а хмелем.
Ну так лучше давай этот плащ
В ширину под собою расстелем.
«He used to come here till he donned gold braid, / a good topcoat on, self-controlled, stoop-shouldered. / Arresting these cafe habitues – / he started snuffing out world culture somewhat later – / seemed sweet revenge (on Time, that is, not them) / for all the lack of cash, the sneer...»
«A far-off time arises in my memory, / The house in the Petersburg Quarters, / A humble daughter of the modest gentry, / Born in Kursk, you are here taking courses. You are cute, — you have many admirers. / This white night, it is only us two, / Sprawling out on your windowsill, tireless...»
«Onto my barely living chest, / The stone of the verdict fell. / But I was ready for this test, / Somehow, I’ll bear this hell. So much that I must do alone: / I’ll start by erasing the past, / I’ll turn my living soul to stone, / And learn to live, at last. Or else... The summer,...»
«I loved you, and that love to die refusing, / May still — who knows! Be smoldering in my breast. / Pray, be not pained — believe me, of my choosing / I’d never have you troubled nor yet distressed. I loved you mutely, hopelessly and truly, / With shy yet fervent, tenderness aglow; / ...»