Here is reward for all my sins,
This triumph and disgrace:
A poem suddenly begins
From nothing, from no place.
The words come magically half-dressed,
Wearing haphazard clothes,
Like roses falling on my chest...
— And you, toss me a rose!
No, throw it past that cloud that towers.
A rhyme shines there and runs
To touch and transform mortal flowers
Into eternal ones.
В награду за мои грехи,
Позор и торжество,
Вдруг появляются стихи —
Вот так… Из ничего.
Все кое-как и как-нибудь,
Волшебно на авось:
Как розы падают на грудь…
— И ты мне розу брось!
Нет, лучше брось за облака —
Там рифма заблестит,
Коснется тленного цветка
И в вечный превратит.
«“Enough ! for beauty is not needed. / The sordid world’s not worth a song. / Grow dim, O Tasso’s lamp ! Unheeded / Lie, Homer, friend for centuries long! “And revolution is not needed; / Its armies dissipate and fade. / It has one crown for which it pleaded, / It has one liberty...»
«Wild wind batters / Window-panes, / And hinged shutters / Rudely strains. Hour of Mass on Easter mom, / Bells far distant, bells forlorn, / Deafness, darkness everywhere; / Only guest, a wind in scorn / Batters on the barrier. Through the window — void and black; / In the darknes...»
«O’er sleepy fields a vulture broods, / In circle upon circle sweeping. / Watching the meadow solitudes. / A mother in her hut is weeping: / “Take bread, my son, take breast, and grow; / Obey, take up thy cross, and go.” Centuries pass. Loud blares the war, / Rebellion rising, haml...»
«Those who were born in years of quiet / Recall not where their ways are set; / Children of Russia’s time of riot, / We are unable to forget. From years that bum us ashes settle.... / Are you all mad? does hope send news? / From days of freedom, days of battle / The gleam of blood on f...»