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!
«— Your years — Mountain, / Your time — Tsars. / Fool! love — Old. / — Others! In love — Old: Monsters, old roots, / Stone altars / Old Cretans, old / Aging warriors...»
«For my poems, written so young / I’d not dreamed I was a poet, / Like drops from the fountain flung, / Like sparks from a rocket, That burst into the realm of true / Sleep, and incense, like tiny demons, / For my poems about death and youth, / — For my unread sermons! — Scattered...»
«Walking, you’re just like me, / Your eyes are on the ground. / I used to lower mine, you see. / Stop passer-by, at this mound! When you’ve picked a cluster / Of buttercups, poppies, a few — / Read, I was named Marina, / And how old I was, too. Don’t think, this is – a grave, ...»
«When I watch the flight of leaves, / To the cobblestones at my feet, / Swept up — as if by an artist, / Whose picture’s at last complete, I think how (already no one likes / My figure, face deep in thought) / A strongly yellow, decidedly rusty, / Leaf, there at the crown’s — fo»