You lost your Russia. 'Tis the end.
Did you oppose an element
Of bliss to one of evil and dark?
No? Then shut up! Missing the mark,
Your fate has sent you to a land
Cold, not affectionate, foreign, and
Your moans and sighs there in vain.
Russia 's not free. One has to gain...
Ты потерял свою Россию.
Противоставил ли стихию
Добра стихии мрачной зла?
Нет? Так умолкни: увела
Тебя судьба не без причины
В края неласковой чужбины.
Что толку охать и тужить —
Россию нужно заслужить!
«Fine is the wine that is in love with us, / The goodly bread we wait for from the oven, / And woman whom we have possessed, at last, / After we've suffered under yoke her own. But what to do if a red sunset freezes / Above a sky that's drowning in cold, / Where there is silence and uneart...»
«How pleased we are by the entrancing wine / And by the bread that’s waiting in the oven, / And by the woman who can pacify / Our agonies in the delights of loving. But with the sunset’s color of a rose / Above the cool horizon of the sky — / What do we do with that divine repos...»
«Fine is the wine that loves us, / and the bread baked for our sake, / and the woman who lies and loves us / when she’s finished her tweaking games. But sunset clouds, rose / in a sky turned cold, / calm like some other earth? / immortal poems? All inedible, non-potable, un-kissable. ...»
«It's priceless — wine, that falls in love with us, / And bread, that sits for us in oven, — priceless treasure, / And priceless is a woman that, at last, / After all torments, we possess for pleasure. But what to do with clear light of dawn, / When sky's, like heaven, peaceful, deep an...»