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.
«If not a bayonet — then a tusk, a snowbank, a squall, — / On the hour, another train — to Immortality! / I came and knew one thing: it's just another stop. / And not worth unpacking. Upon everyone, everything — my indifferent eyes, / Come to rest — on the immemorial. / O how n...»
«How is your life with another, — / Simpler, is it? — One stroke of an oar!— / And as easily as some coastline / Your memory of me Recedes, like a floating island / (In the sky — not the water!) / Souls, souls! should be your sisters, / Not your mistress—es! How is your life w...»
«On a pleasing Atlantic / Breath of spring — / Like a stupendous butterfly / My curtain — and — I Like a Hindu widow / Enter the gold-lipped crater, / Like a listless Naiad / Enter the sea beyond a window...»
«for Vera Arenskaya On the refugee-road! / It whooped — and bolted / Headlong on its wheels. / Time! I don’t have time. Caught up in chronicles / And kisses... like sands / In rustling streams... / Time, you let me down! Of clock-hands and wrinkles’ / Furrows — of American / ...»