Where can I look, where can I go,
to find that almost Alpine snow,
all sacrificed so life can grow,
all turned by May to splash and flow,
to breath of dandelion and rose,
to mighty wave or shining billow —
into that foolish question posed
by François Villon long ago?
Где прошлогодний снег, скажите мне?..
Нетаявший, почти альпийский снег,
Невинной жертвой отданный весне,
Апрелем обращенный в плеск и бег,
В дыханье одуванчиков и роз,
Взволнованного мира светлый вал,
В поэзию... В бессмысленный вопрос,
Что ей Виллон когда-то задавал.
«My friends, can you descry that mound of earth / Above clear waters in the shade of trees? / You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank; / You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves; / A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs... / Alas, my friends! This m...»
«Driven by misfortune's whirlwind, / Having neither oar nor rudder, / By a storm my bark was driven / Out upon the boundless sea. / 'midst black clouds a small star sparkled; / "Don't conceal yourself!" I cried; / But it disappeared, unheeding; / And my anchor was lost, too. All was cl...»
«Reveal yourself, anonymous enchanter! / What heaven hastens you to me? / Why draw me to that promised land again / That I gave up so long ago? Was it not you who in my youth / Enchanted me with such sweet dreams, / Did you not whisper, long ago, / Dear hopes of a guests ethereal? Was i...»
«Dearest dream, my soul's enchantment / Lovely guest from heav'n above, / Most benevolent attender / To the earthly realm below, / You gave me blissful satisfaction / Momentary but complete: / Bringing with you happy tidings — / Like a herald from the skies...»