Lace and roses in the forest morning shine,
Shrewdly the small spider climbs his cobweb line.
Dews are diamonding and blooming faery-bright.
What a golden air! What beauty! Oh, what light!
It is good to wander through the dawn-shot rye,
Good to see a bird, a toad, a dragon-fly;
Hear the sleepy crowing of the noisy cock,
And to laugh at echo, and to hear her mock.
Ah, I love in vain my morning voice to hurl,
Ah, off in the birches, but to glimpse a girl,
Glimpse, and leaning on the tangled fence, to chase
Dawn's unwilling shadows from her morning face.
Ah, to wake her from her half-surrendered sleep,
Tell her of my new-sprung dreams, that lift and leap,
Hug her trembling breasts that press against my hart,
Stir the morning in her, hear its pulses start.
Кружевеет, розовеет утром лес,
Паучок по паутинке вверх полез.
Бриллиантится веселая роса.
Что за воздух! что за свет! что за краса!
Хорошо гулять утрами по овсу,
Видеть птичку, лягушонка и осу,
Слушать сонного горлана-петуха,
Обменяться с дальним эхом: "ха-ха-ха!"
Ах, люблю бесцельно утром покричать,
Ах, люблю в березках девку повстречать,
Повстречать и, опираясь на плетень,
Гнать с лица ее предутреннюю тень,
Пробудить ее невыспавшийся сон,
Ей поведать, как в мечтах я вознесен,
Обхватить ее трепещущую грудь,
Растолкать ее для жизни как-нибудь!
«To Lydia Zinoviev-Annibal For days on end we sailed the river Ocean / To meet the day; our sails are stretched and sure / Our course, resistless land propels our motion; / The voice of waves grows weary and obscure, The orb of day goes blind and burns carnationred; / at last, night falls, ...»
«Your love is like the Milky Way / Whose stellar dew inside me glimmers. / In dreams, its hidden torment shimmers / Like diamonds rippling in the waves. You are, like astral fluid, bitter, / The light of tears that pierces graves. / I am the skyline that obeys / The dawn, its blind and u...»
«The barren slope of the meandering valley / Is overgrown with hoary, wiry grass. / Spurge shows up white. Eroded beds of clay / Reveal the sparkling lead and shale and mica. The water-worn and slaty walls sprout capers; / A crevice clasps the olive’s withered trunk; / Above the hill, th...»
«A sacred wood was here. The messenger of gods / Would let his winged foot fall lightly on these glades. / The onetime site of cities kept no trace of their ruin. / In flocks, sheep creep along the bronze inclines. The slopes are woodless. In the green twilight, the mountains / Form a jagged...»