I walk and think of various things,
For myself weave a funeral wreath,
And in this hideous world I am
A stylishly solitary man.
But suddenly I hear: war, ideas,
The last trump, the twentieth century...
And growing cold, I then recall —
I am a human being no more.
Spasmic jerking or an idiot,
Useless freak of nature —
"Up with...", yells the patriot,
"Down with...", comes the rebel's roar.
Иду — и думаю о разном.
Плету на гроб себе венок,
И в этом мире безобразном
Благообразно одинок.
Но слышу вдруг: война, идея,
Последний бой, двадцатый век.
И вспоминаю, холодея,
Что я уже не человек,
А судорога идиота,
Природой созданная зря, —
«Ур-ра!» из пасти патриота,
«Долой!» из глотки бунтаря.
«I will quietly in the churchyard / Sleep on plywood in the sun, / On the Sunday, guest to mother / You will come, my dear one — / Through the river over the mountain / Can't catch up to grown ones / From afar, the sharp-eyed fellow, / This my cross you'll recognize. / I know, dear ...»
«With pride your spirit is darkened / For this you won't know world at all. / You say that this faith is a dream / And mirage is this capital. You say that my country is sinful, / Your country is godless, I scream. / May the guilt still lie upon us — / We can correct and redeem. Aroun...»
«The early chills are most pleasant to me. / Torment releases me when I come there. / Mysterious, dark places of habitation — / Are storehouses of labor and of prayer. The calm and confident loving / I can't surmount in this side of mine: / A drop of Nizhny Novgorod blood inside me / I...»
«I dream less of him, dear God be gloried, / Does not glimmer everywhere any more. / Fog has fallen on the whitened road, / Shadows run over water to the shore. All day long the ringing did not quiet / Over the expanse of ploughed up soil, / Here with greatest force away from Jonah / Dis...»