Only he whose repose is kept secret
Can breathe sweetly...
The curtain over my window
Does not wave.
You will come, if you are faithful to dreams;
But are you really that one?
I know the garden is there, the lilacs are
There, flooded with sun.
All is well in the blue fire,
In the fresh rustling;
Only the charms of bright allurement
Are so strange to me...
The bees carry honey into the hive there,
Drunk with clusters...
The heart lives only in sleep
Among the stars...
Лишь тому, чей покой таим,
Сладко дышится…
Полотно над окном моим
Не колышется.
Ты придешь, коль верна мечтам,
Только та ли ты?
Знаю: сад там, сирени там
Солнцем залиты.
Хорошо в голубом огне,
В свежем шелесте;
Только яркой так чужды мне
Чары прелести…
Пчелы в улей там носят мед,
Пьяны гроздами…
Сердце ж только во сне живет
Между звездами…
«Orioles are in the woods, and vowels' length / In tonic verses is the single measure known. / But only once a year does nature know in strength / Duration in her meter, as in Homer's own. Caesura-like's the yawning of that day's expanse, / Ease and a labored lengthiness from morning on. / ...»
«Night, square, apothecary, lantern, / Its meaningless and pallid light. / Return a half a lifetime after – / All will remain. A scapeless rite. Then die, then have a new beginning, / And all will turn the same as ere: / Night, rippled water's frigid grinning, / Apothecary, lantern, s...»
«When learning of the tolls of war, / Of yet another battle victim, / 'Tis not his wife, nor comrades, nor / The very hero whom I pity... / Alas! Time will console the wife, / Fraternities – forget their member. / But for as long as 'tis alive, / One soul will constantly remember. / ...»
«A silver sail, the ocean loner, / Is lurking in the azure mist. / What has she lost in foreign corners? / What in her homeland did she miss? Her mast is clattering and bending / Midst whistling wind and raging wave. / Alas, she seeks no happy ending, / Nor runs from happiness away. ...»