All along the Smolensk Road trees rise and rise and rise.
All along the Smolensk Road posts stand mid trees, mid trees.
Just above the Smolensk Road I think those are your eyes:
Two cold evening stars, my two blue destinies.
All along the Smolensk Road the snow slaps face, slaps face.
We are driven from homes because work can't wait, can't wait.
But had there been more force in the pull of your embrace,
A shorter road might have conveyed me through the night.
All along the Smolensk Road trees rise and rise and rise.
All along the Smolensk Road posts hum till dawn, till dawn.
Just above the Smolensk Road I think those are your eyes:
Two cold evening stars, two blue stars look down, look down.
Ж. Б.
По Смоленской дороге — леса, леса, леса.
По Смоленской дороге — столбы, столбы, столбы.
Над Смоленской дорогою, как твои глаза, —
две вечерних звезды — голубых моих судьбы.
По Смоленской дороге — метель в лицо, в лицо,
все нас из дому гонят дела, дела, дела.
Может, будь понадежнее рук твоих кольцо —
покороче б, наверно, дорога мне легла.
По Смоленской дороге — леса, леса, леса.
По Смоленской дороге — столбы гудят, гудят.
На дорогу Смоленскую, как твои глаза,
две холодных звезды голубых глядят, глядят.
«On the door a thick and heavy curtain, / Through the window night mists peer. / What is left of all your hateful freedom, / Juan, now that you know fear? Cold and lonely is the sumptuous bedroom, / Servants sleep in night profound. / Out of happy lands unknown and distant / You can hear...»
«All that is finished, finished, finished; / The circle of our days is done. / And what illusion, and what power, / Recalls you, Past, when you have gone? Some morning clean and clear as crystal, / By Moscow’s Kremlin shall I be, / When my own land recalls my spirit / To its primordial...»
«It’s a hoax, with enchanting anguish, / That’s why life is strong, and full of gloom: / Often, with its rough hand, in harsh language, / Life sends notes, exclaiming, “You are doomed!” Every time I close my eyes, I’m saying: / “Only make my heart somewhat alert. / Life is fake...»
«Behind me you must go, behind me, / My slave obedient and true; / The sparkling mountain-ridges find me / In flight unfaltering with you. Above abysses I shall take you, / Bottomless pits of mystery; / And there, while futile terrors shake you, / Is inspiration’s strength for me. Ami...»