Last night I dreamt a dream of wondrous rare appeal:
A girl was reading Blok in carriage as I travelled.
The placid horse went on with rustle of the wheel.
Her teardrops fell in pools as curly hair unravelled.
And that was all — for only this my dream contained…
But dumbstruck by it, and, yes, agitated by obsession,
All day with anxious tic, my thoughts were unrestrained
About strange girl in Alexander Blok’s possession.
Мне удивительный вчера приснился сон:
Я ехал с девушкой, стихи читавшей Блока.
Лошадка тихо шла. Шуршало колесо.
И слёзы капали. И вился русый локон.
И больше ничего мой сон не содержал...
Но, потрясённый им, взволнованный глубоко,
Весь день я думаю, встревоженно дрожа,
О странной девушке, не позабывшей Блока...
«Against the pale-blue enamel / that April makes conceivable, / the branches of birch trees will stand / and gradually ripen to evening. Their pattern is sharp and complete, / that stiffened gauze is fine, / like a drawing that somebody’s neatly / traced out on a plate of china. Some ...»
«No moon but a clock-face. How’s it a sin / that while it dazzles my eyes I examine / the muted stars’ milky light? Poet Batyushkov, son to a parson, / how he’d spout on. “What’s the time?” they’d ask him. / “Eternity”, he replied.»
«Oh, heart’s remembrance! You are, yet, / Mush stronger than sad one of reasons; / And, often in a distant land, / Bewitch me with your even sweetness. / I hear the sound of your word, / I see the blue of eyes, so dear, / I see your golden locks, right here, / Of the hair so negligent...»
«My friend! I have seen the sea's menace / And the vengeful sky's cursed punishment: / The despicable deeds of mortal enemies, / Blare of war, catastrophic conflagrations. / I have seen the multitudes of rich men / Fleeing in nothing but tattered rags, / I've seen the weathered faces of m...»