The sky is not blossoming with stars in the fog, the
Timid evening has not kindled them today... Only the
Languid fir trees are gleaming through the windows,
And the whirling light snow is covering us.
The snowflakes showered on the fur of your
Eyelashes will not let you look into my eyes;
Like tears, but not burning up my heart,
Like stars, but such as have grown tired of shining...
Your stars are flooded against their will
With the mad hurt of their love...
And I painfully envy the snowflakes
Because it is with them that you are crying...
Небо звездами в тумане не расцветится,
Робкий вечер их сегодня не зажег…
Только томные по окнам елки светятся,
Да, кружася, заметает нас снежок.
Мех ресниц твоих пушинки закидавшие
Не дают тебе в глаза мои смотреть,
Сами слезы, только сердца не сжигавшие,
Сами звезды, но уставшие гореть…
Это их любви безумною обидою
Против воли твои звезды залиты…
И мучительно снежинкам я завидую,
Потому что ими плачешь ты…
«I've never been to the Bosphorus, / You don't ask me about it. / In your eyes I saw the sea, / Flaming with blue fire. I didn't go to Baghdad with the caravan, / I didn't take silk and henna. / Bend with your beautiful body, / Let me rest on my knees. Or is it again so, that no matter ...»
«The evening light of the saffron land, / Quietly are the roses running along the fields. / Sing a song to me dear, / The one that Khayyam sang to you. / Quietly are the roses running along the fields. With the moonlight is Shiraz alighted, / The fly hive of stars is dancing. / I don't l...»
«The air is translucent and blue, / I'll go out in the flowery thickets, / The traveler leaving for the azure, / He won't reach the desert. / The air is translucent and blue. You'll go through the meadow, like the garden, / The garden in wild bloom, / Your glance can't help, / Bending ...»
«The dried flower, now bereft of scent, / I found forgotten in a book; / And straight away my heart / Was flooded with strange musings. / Where had it bloomed, / When? Which springtime gave it birth? / Did it bloom long? By whose hand / Was it gathered? Why placed just here? / Rememb...»