Aquarelle
An apple-tree in Spring shakes me, — to see it grow,
Its branches whitely weighted with unmelting snow.
So might a hunch-backed girl stand, beautiful and dumb,
As trembling, the tree stands, and strikes my genius numb...
It looks into the wide, pale shallows, mirror-clear,
Seeking to shed the dews that stain it like a tear;
And stilled with horror, groans like a rude, rusty cart,
Seeing the dismal hunch mocked by the pool's bright art.
When steely sleep alights upon the silent lake
For the bent apple-tree, as for a sick girl's sake,
I come to offer tenderness the boughs would miss,
I press upon the petal-perfumed tree a kiss.
Then trustingly, with tears, the tree confides her care
To me, and brushes with a touch my back-blown hair.
Her boughs encircle me, her little twigs enlace,
And I lift up my lips to kiss her flowering face.
Акварель
Перу И. И. Ясинского посвящаю
Весенней яблони, в нетающем снегу,
Без содрогания я видеть не могу:
Горбатой девушкой — прекрасной, но немой —
Трепещет дерево, туманя гений мой...
Как будто в зеркало — смотрясь в широкий плес,
Она старается смахнуть росинки слез,
И ужасается, и стонет, как арба,
Вняв отражению зловещего горба.
Когда на озеро слетает сон стальной,
Бываю с яблоней, как с девушкой больной,
И, полный нежности и ласковой тоски,
Благоуханные целую лепестки.
Тогда доверчиво, не сдерживая слез,
Она касается слегка моих волос,
Потом берет меня в ветвистое кольцо, —
И я целую ей цветущее лицо.
«For centuries, God promises us bliss! / With you forever! – The answer flies. / But hope is shattered. And passion dies. / There is no happiness, eternity, or God. But there are clouds in the sky above, / The empty rocks, the shining ice, / And still no name... to boredom and to grief...»
«It happens: no oblivion, no dreams, / The near shadows are roaming in the mist, / Whether you argue or you don’t, no doubts, / “Death and time are reigning on this earth”. Death and time. Suffering – we’ll add. / ...But by the morning, all of a sudden, with no cause, / With grie...»
«A window, a dawn, ... as shadows, are barely seen / Two chairs, a bookshelf on the wall. / Did I wake up? Or the ethereal lilac’s smell / I fancied in my dream? Or this is through the grieving parting, / Through those dim and smoky clouds, / A shadow is reaching out / And smiles from ...»
«One person said: "One life is not enough" / Another said, "The goal we can't handle" / A woman, habitually and dull, / Not listening, has rocked the cradle. The fading ropes creaked so much, / Fell into silence — more gently every time! — / As if the angels sang for her from heaven / ...»