The day will come, the warblers’ loud chirps
Will sound in chorus, praising birdsome quirks,
Merrily, a dragonfly will don
Her brightest weekend eyes and keep them on.
Once again the skies will be for birds,
And the honey meadows — for lungworts.
Only those will be dimmed at noon,
Who are moonlit even without the moon,
There will be hands to hold and embrace,
There will be lips to kiss and taste.
Even the wind, after reciting poetry,
Will fall asleep under its alder tree.
День придет, и славок громкий хор
Хорошо прославит птичий вздор,
И, смеясь, наденет стрекоза
Выходные яркие глаза.
Будут снова небеса для птиц,
А Медынь для звонких медуниц,
Будут только те затемнены,
У кого луна и без луны,
Будут руки, чтобы обнимать,
Будут губы, чтобы целовать,
Даже ветер, почитав стихи,
Заночует у своей ольхи.
«Spring bursts violently / into Moscow houses. / Moths flutter about / crawl on summer hats, / and furs hide secretly. Pots of wallflowers and stock / stand, in the window, just, / of wooden second storeys, / the rooms breathe liberty, / the smell of attics is dust. The street is fr...»
«Snow is falling: snow is falling. / Geranium flowers reach / for the blizzard’s small white stars / past the window’s edge. Snow is falling, all is lost, / the whole world’s streaming past: / the flight of steps on the back stairs, / the corner where roads cross. Snow is falling:...»
«1. And with her only I sailed to ocean, / And with her only I left the shore, / And with her only I was far away, / And with her only I forgot my relatives... Oh, the red sail / In the green distance! / The black bugles, / On the dark shawl twinkling! And he is going from a gloomy lun...»
«The cold wind from a lagoon. / The silent coffins of gondolas. / I, in that night — so ill, and young so — / Had stretched myself against a lion. There on tower, with a song irony, / The giants tolls in that night hour. / Mark sank in the lagoon, all moonlit, / Iconostas, patterned...»