Today has not yet come,
And yesterday has melted.
The morning's face is wan:
An actress with no make-up.
Her eyelids puffed, the dawn
Is creeping, nude and moody,
And with a weary yawn
Sinks into daily duties...
Wise mornings have no haste:
The day is barely shaping,
While, sulky and unshaven,
You watch it in the making
And hear its easy pace.
Вчерашний день погас,
А нынешний не начат,
И утро, без прикрас,
Актрисою заплачет.
Без грима, нагишом,
Приходит утром утро,
А далее - в мешок -
Забот, зевот... И мудро
Что утро настает,
И день не обозначен,
И ты небрит и мрачен.
Светлеет. День не начат,
Но он пешком идет.
«I do not regret, and I do not shed tears, / All, like haze off apple-trees, must pass. / Turning gold, I'm fading, it appears, / I will not be young again, alas. / / Having got to know the touch of coolness / I will not feel, as before, so good. / And the land of birch trees, - oh my ...»
«The tired day droops, slowly waning, / The noisy waves are now tranquil. / The sun has set, the moon is sailing / Above the world, absorbed and still. / / The valley listens to the babbles / Of peaceful river in the dale. / The forest, dark and bending, slumbers / To warbling of the...»
«It's sad to look at you, my love, / And it's so painful to remember! / It seems, the only thing we have / Is tint of willow in September. / / Somebody's lips have outworn / Your warmth and body trepidation, / As if the rain was drizzling down / The soul, that stiffened in congestio...»
«The pearl bejeweling the quiet of night, / The gem of the lagoon's star-studded base! / Your light makes young and pallid every face, / Thorn-apple longs for You in love-lorn plight. Love's anguish echoes in the hearts the tunes / That, string-like strummed, Your rays set loose. / Uneas...»