«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.
«For the duration of these moments so strange, / And for your half open eyes with that vague hint, / For moisture lips, pressing mine as trying to engage, / For all that here, at a slow fire burnt / In one beat of heart with the heart merged, / That equal sigh bound the couple dreamed, — ...»
«The fog of nighttime sleep, the dusty plaque of languor, / I wash them off by gently-gold heavy sponge, / Which’s full of swollen foam soap in all over, / The fragrant thick and very charming storage. It’s lightly bluish, in the pool of milk-white water, / Which‘s slightly visible, bu...»
«Everybody chooses for oneself / A woman, a religion, and a way. / To serve for the devil or prophet — / Everyone chooses for oneself. Everybody chooses for oneself / The sword for dueling or for battle. / The word for prayer or for love — / Everyone chooses for oneself. Everybody c...»
«Among the green sea waves, that kissed Tavrida, / At dawn I saw among so charming nereida. / Hidden between the trees, I hardly dared to sigh, / Over the clear moisture of her breasts could die, / So young and white, like swan them raised, / And streams of foam from her hair squeezed. »