And copper and worn my farthing
Is fit only for a beggar’s pouch.
This is not the good deed —
So, I’ll give my soul to him.
And if the soul is not coin,
But a golden star —
I’ll fling a sliver of light
There where the world has need.
А медный и стертый мой грошик
Нищему только в суму.
Не то, что поступок хороший, —
Так — душу отдам ему.
А если душа не монета,
А золотая звезда, —
Швырну я осколок света
Туда же, где в свете нужда.
«I’ll never forget it (did it happen or not, / This evening): The setting sun’s blaze / Drew open the sky and burned it, red hot, / And the streetlamps shone — in its rays. / I sat by the window and leaned on the pane. / Distant bows sang something of love. / I sent you a black rose...»
«There, a man burned. / Fet Among the crowds, it’s becoming harder / To act undead, when life is make-believe, / And to relate tragic play of ardor / To all of those who’ve yet to really live. And to inspect your nightmares and aspire / For order in the vortex of the heart, / So tha...»
«I while away my life in stride, / It’s senseless to me and redundant: / Today, I’m soberly — triumphant, / Tomorrow, I will — sing and cry. What if my death is getting nearer? / What if, behind me, stands a man, / Who, reaching with his massive hand, / Will block the image in t...»
«The night, the pharmacy, the street, / The pointless lamppost in the mist. / A quarter century recedes — / There’s no escape. It all persists. You’ll die — and you’ll begin anew, / As in the past, all will repeat: / The icy channel flowing through, / The lamp, the pharmacy, t»