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...
«Far from the madding crowd and mirth / A young girl lived on the edge of the earth, / Fantasy breathing sweet as the air, / Of my fantasy unaware. There she lived on the edge of the earth, / That is the story, for what it’s worth... / Just too bad that the earth is round / And has no ...»
«To N. Aseyev* Night stands guard by blown-up bridges, / Horse has lost its way in mistiness. / Dying on the damp earth lies a laddie / Who for comfort could not care less. Warm caressing weather freezes quickly / On the laddie’s parched and lifeless lips / And the gleaming stars of 191...»
«Kakhovka*, Kakhovka, my rifle-companion, / A smouldering bullet discharge. / Irkutsk and Warszawa**, Oryol and Kakhovka — / The milestones of many a march. The lines were attacking and bullets rained heavy, / Machine guns were blasting away, / She came in her trenchcoat, through burning...»
«Oh, the nightingale sings in the graveyard, / Oh, the poplars hum over grave-mounds... / Who can tell us how many poor wretches, / Luckless orphans repose underground? I stand looking at somebody’s last home, / I’ve forgotten my dead happiness... / In the whole spacious world I have n...»