If from the garden, this stupid maple
Spreading his branches would fly away!
Oh, if he could behave this way,
Oh, if he only would be able!
But he 's just thickening every week,
And all is leaving, but not leaving.
What is the point to be so weak
And stay whole year like a stick?!
О, если б клён, в саду растущий,
Расправив ветви, улетел!..
О, если бы летать хотел
Безмозглый клён, в саду растущий!..
Он с каждым днём всё гуще-гуще,
И вот уж сплошь он полиствел.
Что толку! — лучше бы: растущий,
Взмахнув ветвями, улетел!
«Do I need excuses / For divine mismatching? — / Poetry and music / Aren't cure-all magic. And why hum insanely / Tunes and verses hopeless? / Having nothing saintly / Feels more fun and homeless. And our gain is pretty / Minuscule and fleeting — / Only heartfelt pity, / So th...»
«T. O.-T. My evening, silver-feathered, / All-consecrating light! / As if no longer present, / I turn to you my sight – With gratefulness: for every / Revitalizing breath, / That in my final craving / You granted to my breast, For every elevation / Of your becalming hand, / For a...»
«Our rendezvous, their each and every moment, / we celebrated as a holy omen, / Epiphany for just the two of us. / As daring as a wing, more light than dust, / you, down the stairway, like a dizzy torrent / ran skipping treads, and navigated past / the veil of lilac to the territory / u...»
«You were sleeping, today, while I was looking about us / into the shadows, a horseman in patrol. / It was then I understood exactly how late it was: / how death is waiting on stage, and how everything passes, / and though it looks innocent to scribble these lines / poetry is no longer priv...»