«O, my heart is torn apart
Of tenderness ... O, yes, I loved my life
Without measuring, without quenching passion,
— But by the age of thirty, I have no strength enough».
Over a poet, leaning with a smile,
Unknown surgeon then
With lancet will cut his tired chest,
Instead of heart a piece of ice he'll place.
«О, сердце разрывается на части
От нежности... О да, я жизнь любил,
Не меряя, не утоляя страсти,
— Но к тридцати годам нет больше сил».
И, наклоняясь с усмешкой над поэтом,
Ему хирург неведомый тогда
Разрежет грудь усталую ланцетом
И вместо сердца даст осколок льда.
«The wondrous moment of our meeting… / I well remember you appear / Before me like a vision fleeting, / A beauty’s angel pure and clear. In hopeless ennui surrounding / The worldly bustle, to my ear / For long your tender voice kept sounding, / For long in dreams came features dear. ...»
«I knew you were dreaming of me, / that’s why I couldn’t get to sleep. / The murky lamp hazed blue / and showed me the road. You saw the Tsaritsa’s garden, / the intricate white palace, / the black tracery of the fences / by the echoing stone steps. You walked, not knowing the wa...»
«I will return as grass in spring, / I'll try to reach you, germinating, / As buds reach forward to the green / When they are waiting to awaken. To start the blossoming anew / One morning, secretly and shyly, / Already sparkling with the dew, / That dries away if sun is shining. The sun...»
«How many birch trees did you see in this world? / It’s likely — just two, maybe three, / All trimmed with the silver of first winter cold / Or dressed in the green veil of spring Or, maybe, in summer you’d come back at home, / And sunlight would fill all your place, / And through op...»