Over earth awakes a whirring,
And a rustling, and a stirring,
Trumpet-voices fill the skies:
"Lo, they call us. Brothers, rise!"
"No. The darkness holds unshaken.
I will sleep, and not awaken.
Do not rouse me. Do not call.
Do not strike the coffin-wall."
"Now you dare not sleep. Resounding
Sternly, the last trump is sounding.
They are rising from the tomb.
As from the maternal womb
Of the opened earth forth-flinging,
From their graves the dead are springing."
"No, I cannot. All unuttered
My words died. My eyes are shuttered.
I shall not believe their lies.
I shall not, I cannot rise!
Brother,—I am ashamed and shrinking,—
Dust, corruption,—rotting, stinking!"
"Brother, God has seen our prison.
All shall wake, and all be risen.
All shall yet be judged by Him.
Cherubim and seraphim
High the holy Throne are bearing!
Here our heavenly King is faring.
Brother, he must live who dies.
Glad or grieving, thou shalt rise."
Под землею слышен ропот,
Тихий шелест, шорох, шепот.
Слышен в небе трубный глас:
— Брат, вставай же, будят нас.
— Нет, темно еще повсюду,
Спать хочу и спать я буду,
Не мешай же мне, молчи,
В стену гроба не стучи.
— Не заснешь теперь, уж поздно.
Зов раздался слишком грозно,
И встают вблизи, вдали,
Из разверзшейся земли,
Как из матерней утробы,
Мертвецы, покинув гробы.
— Не могу и не хочу,
Я закрыл глаза, молчу,
Не поверю я обману,
Я не встану, я не встану.
Брат, мне стыдно — весь я пыль,
Пыль и тлен, и смрад, и гниль.
— Брат, мы Бога не обманем,
Все проснемся, все мы встанем,
Все пойдем на Страшный суд.
Вот престол уже несут.
Херувимы, серафимы.
Вот наш царь дориносимый.
О, вставай же — рад не рад,
Всё равно ты встанешь, брат.
«I, a butterfly that has flown / into the room of human life, / must leave the handwriting of my dust / like a prisoner’s signature / over the stern windows, / across fate’s strict panes. / The wallpaper of human life / is grey and sad. / And there is the windows’ / transparen...»
«Moon above the river drifted, / Fireflies glimmered on the bank, / Here a wreath to head I lifted, / Drowning, ’neath the waters sank. Kiev whitens, Dnieper skirts, / By the Dnieper mermaid’s singing. / From her scales a glitter flirts… / Sorrow from me maybe wringing — Eyes ha...»
«I will grow out reaching you / As grass that wedges through the ground, / As bud that tends to be a bloom / In longing wish to get aroused. It bursts upon the morning view / When no one can scent and watch it, / But it already shines with dew / And dries should Sun come up and tou...»
«I bless you, forests, / Valleys, corn-fields, hills, waters, / I bless Freedom / And blue skies! / And my work I bless, / And this poor wallet, / And the steppe from end to end, / And light of sun, and darkness of night, / And the lonely footpath / Along which, a beggar, I travel, ...»