Whirlwinds of turbid bad weather
Keep a white secret...
Bells of a bracelet will now
all silent, now ring...
Dread of stolen happiness —
The honey and poison of cold lips
I thirstily drink, all filled
With the fever of voluptuousness.
This dream, gray darkness, you
Alone were able to create,
Crunch of snow, gleam of shadow,
Smoky patterns on the pane,
And harmony from the warmth
Of lips, fur, and lilac.
Вихри мутного ненастья
Тайну белую хранят…
Колокольчики запястья
То умолкнут, то звенят.
Ужас краденого счастья, —
Губ холодных мёд и яд,
Жадно пью я, весь объят
Лихорадкой сладострастья.
Этот сон, седая мгла,
Ты одна создать могла,
Снега скрип, мельканье тени,
На стекле узор курений
И созвучье из тепла
Губ, и меха, и сиреней.
«Through the consoling April sun / the breeze, so very unconsoling, / a sandy whirlwind on the road — / shutting up the chattering starling. Up above the northern latitudes, / dark grey clouds are bulking high. / Bowler hats get pulled down tight — / but these two dandies let theirs ...»
«Step over, leap across, / fly beyond, however you like, get through it — / but tear yourself off: be a stone from a sling, / be a star that breaks away from the night... / You lost it yourself — now look for it. God knows what you grunt to yourself, / looking for spectacles or keys.»
«Yes, yes! In blind and tender passion / wear out the pain, burn out the fire; / rip your heart up, like a letter, / lose your mind, and then expire. And then? Once more to roll away / the gravestone that lies over you; / to love once more, and flash your feet / upon a stage of moonlit b...»
«Enter bringing me a dream, / or some gorgeousness from hell, / or bring me God if you're from Him, / but little acts of meaning well, / leave on the hatstand in the hall. / Here on this pea we call the earth, / either be angel or be demon, / but to be human — what's the worth / of ...»