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.
«If by life you were deceived, / Don't be dismal, don't be wild! / In the day of grief, be mild / Merry days will come, believe. Heart is living in tomorrow; / Present is dejected here; / In a moment, passes sorrow; / That which passes will be dear.»
«Should this life sometime deceive you, / Don't be sad or mad at it! / On a gloomy day, submit: / Trust — fair day will come, why grieve you? Heart lives in the future, so / What if gloom pervade the present? / All is fleeting, all will go; / What is gone will then be pleasant.»
«Should ill-fortune cause you sadness — / Don't live dwelling on the pain! / Don't be bitter, don't complain: / It will come, your day of gladness. Future hope sustains the heart; / Present comes as bleak and drear: / All is brief and will depart; / The departed will be dear.»
«Exegi monumentum A monument I've raised not built with hands, / And common folk shall keep the path well trodden / To where it unsubdued and towering stands / Higher than Alexander's Column. I shall not wholly die-for in my sacred lyre / My spirit shall outlive my dust's corrup...»