Clouds that whiten in a dome of blue
and twisted trees sharply delineated,
the dust aglow, each shadow elongated
and phantoms that pass through the heart anew.
Why was the tale so brief? I cannot say.
Was there a second half I didn’t know?
In pale skies the clouds dissolve away
and night roams through the blackened tree below.
That man, the bench he sits on in the dusk
are growing heavier and more grotesque...
Don’t move! For as carnations start to shine
and leafy bushes melt and intertwine,
the poet shakes away his uniform
of tired bronze and prings on the lawn.
На синем куполе белеют облака,
И чётко ввысь ушли кудрявые вершины,
Но пыль уж светится, а тени стали длинны,
И к сердцу призраки плывут издалека.
Не знаю, повесть ли была так коротка,
Иль я не дочитал последней половины?..
На бледном куполе погасли облака,
И ночь уже идет сквозь чёрные вершины…
И стали — и скамья и человек на ней
В недвижном сумраке тяжеле и страшней.
Не шевелись — сейчас гвоздики засверкают,
Воздушные кусты сольются и растают,
И бронзовый поэт, стряхнув дремоты гнёт,
С подставки на траву росистую спрыгнёт.
«Some wait for joy, some seek ovations, / Some look for honours in the field, / Some yearn for mad gratification, / Some for reply to prayers appealed. While I — all visions false, mistaken, / Like bygone dreams fever-distressed, / I’ll trade now for the bliss of waking, / Oh dear fr...»
«I love you as the sea loves the sunrise, / As Narcissus loves the glimmer and the coldness of dreamy waters. / I love you as the stars love the crescent moon, / As the poem loves its creator inspired by fancy. / I love you like the flame that attracts the moth to its Death, from exhaustive l...»
«As in the day of first creation, / The azure skies are calm again, / As though the world knew not privation, / As though the heart knew naught of pain; / For love and fame my craving passes; / 'Mid silence of the fields at morn / I breathe, as breathe these very grasses... / O'er days ...»
«Quoth nature unto me in tones of stately scorning: / "Begone, and break not in upon my harmony! / I weary of thy tears; mar not with anguished mourning / The calm wherewith my azure nights encompass me. "All have I given thee, — life, youth and freedom given, / But thou in senseless feud...»