Through love, through loves, as legends state it
Two kindred souls seek fusion true
Forever more to be related;
Ideal communion –destined, fated.
But fate locks them in combat too.
And in this combat one soul’s fires
Always burns with love more pure.
It suffers more, to more aspires,
But in the end that soul expires,
That’s its fate, predestined, sure.
Любовь, любовь – гласит преданье –
Союз души с душой родной –
Их съединенье, сочетанье,
И роковое их слиянье,
И... поединок роковой...
И чем одно из них нежнее
В борьбе неравной двух сердец,
Тем неизбежней и вернее,
Любя, страдая, грустно млея,
Оно изноет наконец...
«An even, hazy hum runs through the glade, / The rustling leaves to laze and drowse incline . . . / The roosters faraway in sun-specked shade, / Their vernal tidings sing, in crows benign. A quiet, hazy hum runs through the glade . . . / To succor me and send my soul repose, / I lie midst ...»
«Embroidered all in stars, my sail / Stands tall and white, both taut and frail; / Between the stars there glows the Face / Of Mother Mary, full of grace. What do I care if shores and sphere / Are fading, soon to disappear! / My soul’s replete, my soul’s austere, / And horns of fresh...»
«A lone white sail that glistens, gleams, / On seascape haze cerulean blue. / What distant realms attract his dreams? / In dear homeland what’s left to rue? The billows surge, the winds are shrieking, / The creaking mast writhes in distress, / Alas, not happiness he’s seeking, / Nor ...»
«(Mosaic in a Moscow Cathedral) Thy face flushed red ‘gainst Batu’s fires, / That gruesome glower in eyes gone dead, / The rust-gold wings where faith respires / In sacred trepidation spread. Before thy stare in the Time of the Dread / Passed fools in skufia, tattered, worn, / Forever...»