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.
«Believe me not, dear, when in hours of anguish / I say my love for thee exists no more. / At ebb of tide, think not the sea is faithless; / It will return with love unto the shore. E'en now I pine for thee with old-time passion, / And place my freedom in thy hands once more. / Already, wi...»
«Dost thou know, my native country, / Any house or corner lone / Where thy Tiller and thy Sower, / Russia's peasant, does not moan? In the fields, along the highways, / In the cells and dungeons black, / In the mines in iron fetters, / By the side of barn and stack; 'Neath the carts, hi...»
«The evening light has soaked with ancient gold / And gall the yellow hills. Like tawny fur / Grass rises shaggy in a ruddy blur; / Past fiery bushes metal waves unfold; / And enigmatic cliffs and boulders hold / Worn troughs that are the sea's chronologer. / In the winged twilight figure...»
«Here stood a sacred forest. Here the messenger / Wing-footed went, his touch upon the dumb glades leaving... / Upon the site of cities, nor stones, nor ruins heaving: / Now on burnt slopes but sheep in scattered patches stir. The mountain peaks: cut crowns! Across each bitten spur / T...»