A pale moon, on the wane,
The air sonorous, dead and clear,
And on the naked, nippy willow
Murmurs a wilted leaf.
Catches frost, gets heavier
In the abyss of a quiet pond.
Darkens and thickens
The stirless water.
A pale moon on the wane
Is lying dead,
And on the naked black willow
The cold ray doesn’t tremble.
The sky shimmers, dear,
As the magical earth,
As the inaccessible fields
Of a lost paradise.
Бледный месяц — на ущербе.
Воздух — звонок, мертв и чист.
И на голой, зябкой вербе
Шелестит увядший лист.
Замерзает, тяжелеет
В бездне тихого пруда,
И чернеет и густеет
Неподвижная вода.
Бледный месяц на ущербе
Умирающий лежит,
И на голой черной вербе
Луч холодный не дрожит.
Блещет небо, догорая,
Как волшебная земля,
Как потерянного рая
Недоступные поля.
«Until the poet’s summoned thus / By great Apollo to be martyred, / Within the world of bustling fuss / He stays immersed and faint-hearted; / His lyre’s silent, hushed and cold, / His soul lies deep in wintry slumber, / Among the humble of the world / He is, for now, perhaps, most ...»
«Wandering the noisy streets, / Entering the crowded church, / Sitting among wild young men, / I am lost in my thoughts. I say to myself: the years will fly, / And however many are here, we shall all / Go down under the eternal vaults. / Someone's hour is already at hand. Gazing at a so...»
«Through the murk the moon is veering, / Ghost-accompanist of night, / On the melancholy clearings / Pouring melancholy light. Runs the troika with its dreary / Toneless jangling sleigh-bell on / Over dismal snow' I'm weary, / Hungry, frozen to the bone. Coachman in a homely fashion's ...»
«Through the misty billows’ fingers / Threads the moon with pallid shade, / On the dismal glades she lingers, / Casts her dismal beams’ parade. Down the listless winter passage / Races troika pulled by hounds, / Tolls the sleigh-bell’s one-note message, / Fills the air with tedious...»