(Winter Train)
In the white field was an ashy ball, the
Shadows there were tender and desired;
A ravishing dance merged and swirled
And laid smoke on their flounces.
In a turbulent sequence, screening the
Distance from me, the dancers flew past,
And there was an age-old sadness in
Their tender dance without tender music.
But below, a shudder and a banging
Proclaimed that the horror was not spent;
Lumbering with chains, Infirmity would
Fetter the airy ones there, but could not.
And was the steppe so hateful to them,
Or the torment so capriciously desired? —
Every now and then the flounce’s
Frill brushed against the iron chain.
Зимний поезд
В белом поле был пепельный бал,
Тени были там нежно-желанны,
Упоительный танец сливал,
И клубил, и дымил их воланы.
Чередой, застилая мне даль,
Проносились плясуньи мятежной,
И была вековая печаль
В нежном танце без музыки нежной.
А внизу содроганье и стук
Говорили, что ужас не прожит;
Громыхая цепями, Недуг
Там сковал бы воздушных — не может.
И была ль так постыла им степь,
Или мука капризно-желанна, —
То и дело железную цепь
Задевала оборка волана.
«I will lead a man to the dear one — / I don't wish for the little joy — / And I'll quietly lay to sleep / The glad, tired little boy. In a chilly room once again / I will pray to the Mother of God, / It is hard to be a recluse, / To be happy is also hard. Only fiery sleep will com...»
«The spring was still mysteriously swooning, / Across the hills wandered transparent wind / And the deep lake was growing blue among us — / A temple forged and kept not by mankind. You were affrighted of our first encounter, / And prayed already for the second one, / And now today once m...»
«In Kievan temple of the divine wisdom / Falling to knees, I before thee did vow / That your way will be my way / Wherever, wherever it will go. Thus heard Yaroslav in a white coffin / And angels made of gold in his stead. / Like pigeons, weave the simple words / And are now near the sun...»
«City vanished, the last house's window / Stared like one living and stark... / This place is totally unfamiliar, / Smells of burning, and field is dark. But when the curtain of thunder / Moon had cut, indecisive and wan, / We could see: On the hill, to the forest, / Hobbled a handicapp...»