All rules are incorrect,
all laws remain perverse,
until they’re firmly set
in well wrought lines of verse.
An age or era will
be merely a stretch of time
without a meaning until
it’s glorified in rhyme.
Until the poet’s «Yes!»,
entrusted by his pen
to print, award success
to this or that — till then
the jury will be out,
the verdict still in doubt.
Все правила — неправильны,
Законы — незаконны,
Пока в стихи не вправлены
И в ямбы — не закованы.
Период станет эрой.
Столетье — веком будет,
Когда его поэмой
Прославят и рассудят.
Пока на лист не ляжет
«Добро!» поэта,
Пока поэт не скажет,
Что он — за это,
До этих пор — не кончен спор.
«Waving a bough full of fragrance, / In the dark, with pure good to sup, / The water the storm had made giddy / Went running from cup to cup. From chalice to chalice rolling, / It slid along two and hung, / One drop of agate, within them. / Shining and shy it clung, Over the meadowsweet...»
«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. Lis...»
«To fly off, a ripe pear in a storm. / With one leaf clinging on as it must. / Mad devotion! It quitted the branch! / It will choke with its throat full of dust! A ripe pear, more aslant than the wind. / What devotion! “You'll bray me? You're brash!" / Look! In beauty the thunder-spent s...»
«9 The piano, aquiver, will lick the foam from its lips. / The frenzy will wrench you, fell you, and you, undone. / Will whisper: “Darling!" “No," I shall cry, “what’s this? / In the presence of music!" Of nearness there is none Like twilight’s, with the chords tossed into the firep...»