Thank you for everything. For the war,
For the revolution and exile.
For the indifferent bright country
Where we now ‘drag out our existence’.
There is no sweeter destiny than to lose everything.
There is no happier fate than to become a vagabond.
And you’ve never been closer to heaven
Than here, tired of boredom
Tired of breathing,
Without strength, without money,
Without love,
In Paris...
За все, за все спасибо. За войну,
За революцию и за изгнанье.
За равнодушно — светлую страну,
Где мы теперь "влачим существованье".
Нет доли сладостней — все потерять.
Нет радостней судьбы — скитальцем стать,
И никогда ты к небу не был ближе,
Чем здесь, устав скучать,
Устав дышать,
Без сил, без денег,
Без любви, в Париже...
«The court of my empress is lofty of height, / With seven golden pillars around. / The crown of my empress is sevenfold bedight, / With jewels unnumbered 'tis bound. And in the green garden, my empress' own, / The roses and lilies bloom fair; / In the waves of a silvery streamlet is thrown...»
«Sunset dreams on fir-tre cones, / Green — the hedge, and brown — the field; / Mossy rifts in weathered stones / Meekly vernal waters yield. Oh, look up the wooded steep — / God has touched it with his palm; / Piously wild berries weep, / Listening to the grassy psa...»
«A Psalter of Tsar' Aleksii, / Its pages — scarves, funeral groats, / Restless Russia / Wanders, wheezing, through decrees. The peasant jacket is torn, / The disgraced headscarf flaps . / Now a bench by' the door would be good, / And tales about Constantinople, Honey buns on the tabl...»
«I have forgotten what is in my hands: / A heart, a hat, or a cane? / In the gardens of the Lord / Grape bunches ripen. Ahead the cry: "don't," / Behind: "return." / All that is quiet is the path / Leading upwards. Shouldn't I follow it? / Maybe, if no sin is committed, / On the azu...»