One person said: «One life is not enough»
Another said, «The goal we can't handle»
A woman, habitually and dull,
Not listening, has rocked the cradle.
The fading ropes creaked so much,
Fell into silence — more gently every time! —
As if the angels sang for her from heaven
And talked about love.
Один сказал: «Нам этой жизни мало»,
Другой сказал: «Недостижима цель»,
А женщина привычно и устало,
Не слушая, качала колыбель.
И стертые веревки так скрипели,
Так умолкали — каждый раз нежнее! —
Как будто ангелы ей с неба пели
И о любви беседовали с ней.
«What's in my name? It's soulless, / It shall expire, like the dismal roar / Of waves that hit the distant shore, — / Like nighttime noises in the forest! / Upon the memo sheet, in grief, / Its imprint in the stillborn gloom, / Much like the writing on the tomb, / In foreign language ...»
«Oh what a night! There’s biting frost, / There are no clouds on the coast; / The azure arch, a woven plaid, / Is dazzled with the frequent stars. / All homes are dark. And every gate / Is safely locked with bolts and bars. / And all is peaceful as of late. / At last, the marketplace ...»
«Where sea waves crash against / The barren cliffs with all their might, / Where the glowing moon enchants / In the twilight of the night, / Where, in a harem, a Muslim, daily / Spends his time without a care, / The sorceress, caressing, gave me / A sacred talisman to wear. And then, e...»
«A withered flower lies forgotten / Inside a book, before my eyes: / My soul awakes, all of the sudden, / And I begin to fantasize: Where did it grow? Among which plants? / How long ago? And picked by whom, / By foreign or familiar hands? / Did it already start to bloom? Placed here in ...»