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.
«Best for me loudly the gaming-poems to say, / And for you the hoarse harmonica to play! And having left, hugging, for the night of late, / Lose a band from a stiff, tight plait. Best for me your child to rock and sway, / And for you to make fifty rubles in a day, And to go on memory day to ...»
«I will lead a man to the dear one — / I don't wish for the little joy — / And I'll quietly lay to sleep / The glad, tired little boy. In a chilly room once again / I will pray to the Mother of God, / It is hard to be a recluse, / To be happy is also hard. Only fiery sleep will com...»
«The spring was still mysteriously swooning, / Across the hills wandered transparent wind / And the deep lake was growing blue among us — / A temple forged and kept not by mankind. You were affrighted of our first encounter, / And prayed already for the second one, / And now today once m...»
«In Kievan temple of the divine wisdom / Falling to knees, I before thee did vow / That your way will be my way / Wherever, wherever it will go. Thus heard Yaroslav in a white coffin / And angels made of gold in his stead. / Like pigeons, weave the simple words / And are now near the sun...»