I wish I could love the clouds at
Daybreak... but their haze is bitter
To me: my bondage then weighs so heavily on
Me, I remember so much that I was young once.
I wish I could love their evening, when
Reddening there the rays are extinguished,
But of the sacrifice of their rosy bodies
I dream only of the ash in the night.
I love only night and the flowers
In the crystal vase, where fires break
Up-because they die in the crystal
As the consolation of a dream...
Because the flowers-are you.
Я хотел бы любить облака
На заре… Но мне горек их дым:
Так неволя тогда мне тяжка,
Так я помню, что был молодым.
Я любить бы их вечер хотел,
Когда, рдея, там гаснут лучи,
Но от жертвы их розовых тел
Только пепел мне снится в ночи.
Я люблю только ночь и цветы
В хрустале, где дробятся огни,
Потому что утехой мечты
В хрустале умирают они…
Потому что — цветы это ты.
«If death is night, if life is day – / Oh, how the motley day drains me! / And shadows grow above me dense, / My head bowing low toward sleep... Made powerless, I surrender to it... / But through the mute dark flash fantasies – / Somewhere, above, there a clear day sparkles / And an ...»
«He's taken all from me, executioner God. / Health, strength of will, the air, and sleep. / Only one thing did he leave me, and that / Is you, that I may continue to praise him.»
«Now the golden leafage is beggared. / Shining through the porches of autumn, / Shows the cool blue stillness of heaven. / Lo, the thin-trunked grove is transcended: / Carved in stone, a columned cathedral. / Smoke-scrolls wind about the frail friezes; / Flung above the doors is a curtain...»
«We live just as in a dream impenetrable / on one of the comfortable planets... / There are so many things we don't need, / and that which we want doesn't exist.»