In early autumn sweetly wistful,
there is a short but wonderous interim,
when days seem made as though of crystal,
with evenings luminously dim...
Without their tillers, empty fields look wider;
where sickles ravaged in the harvester’s ebb,
a single thread left by a spider
still speaks of the unravelled web.
Warblers have gone, afraid of future shadows,
yet far away is winter’s firstborn storm,
and heaven pours its azure, pure and warm,
on quietly resting fields and meadows...
Есть в осени первоначальной
Короткая, но дивная пора —
Весь день стоит как бы хрустальный,
И лучезарны вечера...
Где бодрый серп гулял и падал колос,
Теперь уж пусто всё — простор везде, —
Лишь паутины тонкий волос
Блестит на праздной борозде.
Пустеет воздух, птиц не слышно боле,
Но далеко еще до первых зимних бурь —
И льется чистая и теплая лазурь
На отдыхающее поле...
«Search for me in transparent spring light, / I’m like wings, imperceptibly close, / I’m a sigh, I’m a sound, a sunbeam inside, / but I’m lighter than it: it is here, and I was. There’s no parting between us, dear friend! / Hear me now, I’m here. I am traced / by your living an...»
«The end, the start I do embody — / Forged as a link that's true and sturdy. / Although my claims to fame are few! / Rejoicing, I unite the queue. In future Russia — new and mighty, / My graven idol will be sighted / Two faced where two roads come to meet / Where time, wind, sand......»
«Strive not to break your fateful chains, stop! / In hate, in torment, while seized by fury / Don’t tug at them. Eyes closed, cross your hands and bury / thoughts’ storm. You'll glean an answer as a slow crop. Science "fireworks" and swordsman’s glory / Enslave the world and toss it li...»
«Brow — / Snows. / White — / Coffin glows. Intones / the deacon. / Arrow lit / Beacon — Nave — / grave. / Consecration! / Vault — cessation. Apparition — / Hell's perdition!»