To Valia Khmara-Barshchevsky
Having taken leave of the starry Wastes,
Palm Week was sailing on the
Last doomed piece of frozen snow
Into defunct April’s yellow dusk.
It was sailing in fragrant smoke, in
The fainting of death knells, from
Icons with profound eyes and from
Lazaruses forgotten in the black pit.
The white moon on the wane rose high, and
For all whose life was irretrievable,
Ardent tears swam along the palm
Branch on to a cherub’s rosy cheeks.
Вале Хмара-Барщевскому
В жёлтый сумрак мёртвого апреля,
Попрощавшись с звездною пустыней,
Уплывала Вербная Неделя
На последней, на погиблой снежной льдине.
Уплывала в дымах благовонных,
В замираньи звонов похоронных,
От икон с глубокими глазами
И от Лазарей, забытых в чёрной яме.
Стал высоко белый месяц на ущербе,
И за всех, чья жизнь невозвратима,
Плыли жаркие слёзы по вербе
На румяные щёки херувима.
«Don’t even try your looking back / At this gloom dark, at this gloom ice; / There someone waits on your feet’s track, / You can’t stop answering his eyes. / Today I looked back and… at once / I see: he looks at me, my friend, / With his alive eyes from the ice — / My single o...»
«I still have a hope to come back to my life / Just having waked up at the morn, good enough, — / At early, light one — all in crystal-clear dew — / Where boughs are set in the brilliant hue, / Where lakes of sundew in the thickets lie spread, / Reflecting the cloud’s alacritous ...»
«In the name of the word that, my dear, / Is best one and single for us, / Again fall in love with me here, / And tell me all this and — at once. Beware! You could loose the right moment! / So, call for, not looking at past, / The proud and happiest load / Of my love’s unusual thrust...»
«Not till the silver nor the golden wed / I will proceed to live with you, my friend. / But we have had the iron one before — / t’d gone through flames of the ferocious war. / This love I hold all golden weds above: / Like in the iron, I am still in love.»