A virgin and a bride, I passed away
He used to tell me my allure was gleaming
Of love, in frenzy, I was only dreaming, —
And with delight, I lived in brief dismay.
One April day I simply walked away,
I left forever, passive and not grieving —
But there was still a reason in my living:
I, for his love, have never passed away.
Here, in the silence of the graveyard lanes,
Where just the dreamy wind blows to and fro,
All speaks of joy and melting of the snow.
Love’s sonnet on the cherished tomb remains
And sings a song of me in deathless woe,
And azure skies are gliding down the lanes.
Я девушкой, невестой умерла.
Он говорил, что я была прекрасна,
Но о любви я лишь мечтала страстно, —
Я краткими надеждами жила.
В апрельский день я от людей ушла,
Ушла навек покорно и безгласно —
И всё ж была я в жизни не напрасно:
Я для его любви не умерла.
Здесь, в тишине кладбищенской аллеи,
Где только ветер веет в полусне,
Всё говорит о счастье и весне.
Сонет любви на старом мавзолее
Звучит бессмертной грустью обо мне,
А небеса синеют вдоль аллеи.
«Ye lists and catalogues still haunt my brain; / Before me I behold you, face on face, / Near me afresh on this unpeopled plain. Your secrets long ago I held in chase! / By lamp-light o'er the catalogue I bent, / To probe for books that scarce had left a trace; To track down names; by sylla...»
«At night, as was our wont, we sought the café. Near, / Paris aglow and drunken in its rapture swayed. / I gaze upon your face; I strive from year to year / To pierce the veil and seek the scars new wounds have made. And like a rugged sailor you to me appear, / Who in those goodly times Mag...»
«Birds of wrath with their plumage of fire all bedight / Over heaven's white portals were borne in their flight; / On the marble the fiery refulgences flared. / Then swiftly o'er ocean the wanderers fared. But upon the pure marble, the threshold unstained, / There was something unwonted that...»
«Electrical moons are twinkling / On curving and delicate bands; / The telegraph wires are tinkling / In tender, invisible hands. The clocks with their amber faces / By magic are lit o'er the crowd; / Of stillness the cooling traces / The thirst-ridden pavement enshroud. 'Neath a net th...»