First the blue of noon’s flames,
Then the scarlet of daybreak’s
Flames; am I tired of the clear-cut
Lines, is the sun itself tired?
But through the dark-leafed canopy
I await another sun, the
Color of the golden hollyhock.
Or of the rose and the gold ducat.
It will be so pleasant to
The eyes to sink in green nets,
And then to kindle colored
Spots on the dark maples.
Even if the lights of the mirage’s wheeling
Should be extinguished in a moment...
Even if I am the joy of reflections.
Are you not also the same, poets?
То полудня пламень синий,
То рассвета пламень алый,
Я ль устал от четких линий
Солнце ль самое устало…
Но чрез полог темнолистый
Я дождусь другого солнца
Цвета мальвы золотистой
Или розы и червонца.
Будет взорам так приятно
Утопать в сетях зеленых,
А потом на темных кленах
Зажигать цветные пятна.
Пусть миражного круженья
Через миг погаснут светы…
Пусть я — радость отражен,
Но не то ль и вы, поэты?
«I knew her as far back / as those unbelievable years. / Tutchev With years you haven't changed, my fair: / You're charming, strict, as clear as day; / The only change is in your hair, / It"s sleek and with a flash of grey. / / Well, as for me, I'm sitting here, / Over my book...»
«I bless my lucky stars above, / A better fate I don't desire. / My heart, so much you you've been in love! / My mind, so oft you"ve been afire! / / Though happy times and grievous torments / Have left their bitter trace, all right, / Yet in the boredom, storm and torrents / ...»
«When you are on my way, / So live and so beautiful, / So tired and weary, / Talking sadly / And thinking of death, / You don't love anyone / And despise your beauty, — / Well, can I possibly hurt you? / / Oh no! I'm not an oppressor, / Nor an arrogant man nor a liar, / Thou...»
«I know your face so well, my fair, / It feels like you have lived with me. / At home, at parties, — everywhere / Your dainty look is what I see. / / Your footsteps follow me wherever / I go or happen to be in. / Somebody chases me as ever / Isn"t it you, — the one I mean? / ...»