Bliss is in the sparkles red,
Inspirations, flying and bright,
In our dreams, subtle and light,
In your eyes, tired and sad.
Woe 's no faith, but reason,
Not to trust, but just to know,
Prophets, subject to derision,
And the search of bliss is a woe.
Счастье жизни — в искрах алых;
В просветленьях мимолетных,
В грёзах ярких, но бесплотных
И в твоих очах усталых.
Горе — в вечности пороков,
В постоянном с ними споре,
В осмеянии пророков
И в исканьях счастья — горе.
«Pray before sleep, / That you don’t wake up famous.»
«...And I simply wouldn’t come near it, / Renouncing all earthly goods. / “This place’s” guardian spirit / Became a snag in the woods. In this life, we are all merely guests, / Life, itself, is a habit, no doubt. / I can hear, in the aerial jets, / Two voices conversing aloud. O...»
«On hearing thunder, you’ll recall my face, / You’ll think: She wished for storms and lightning... / The skyline of hard-crimson will be widening, / The heart will be, as it was then, — ablaze. / It’ll happen on some Moscow day like this, / I’ll leave this city far behind for good...»
«Confusion I The burning light was stifling, / His glances – like the rays. / I only shuddered slightly: / This one can tame my ways. / He’ll lean in, speaking, brazen… / I’m pale, out of fright. / Let love become the gravestone / That lies upon my life.»