There’s jasmine altar, canopy shrine,
And virgins whitely dressed in rows.
Where the reed’s incense is smoking
Before the crystal statue of the goddess,
That putting down narrow its goat's eyes.
A forest, morn, heat. An emerald’s green,
That in the crystal chrysolite shines.
On table highly forged from a gold
Sat, as the Buddha, she relaxed,
The pure on the earth and in the paradise.
Mysterious and fragile is her sight,
That twinkles frigidly as dead.
Under the oblique eyebrows her raised,
With swamp and evil smile ahead,
That partly lits her shining face.
Навес кумирни, жертвенник в жасмине
И девственниц склонённых белый ряд.
Тростинки благовонные чадят
Перед хрустальной статуей богини,
Потупившей свой узкий, козий взгляд.
Лес, утро, зной. То зелень изумруда,
То хризолиты светят в хрустале.
На кованом из золота столе
Сидит она спокойная, как Будда,
Пречистая в раю и на земле.
И взгляд её, загадочный и зыбкий,
Мерцает всё бесстрастней и мертвей
Из-под косых приподнятых бровей,
И тонкою недоброю улыбкой
Чуть озарён блестящий лик у ней.
«I don't need much! / A crust of bread, / a cup of milk, / the sky above / and these clouds!»
«The sticky sky smells blue-gray, it's the odor of udder. / Show me some loving, be good to me! / I am bleeding. You are my fatality. / I am nailed up to die on an old empty tree.»
«The moon begins to flow — / reveals herself, / conceals herself, / then somebody squeals: oh! / and disintegrates the sky. / Gloss-face drapes herself / in a chorus of clouds. / Bread's set out on the table. Soup's on. / They say a naked woman / is beautiful by moonlight. / Rou...»
«But your glance is pale, horse-eye pale, / silvered with a bluish streak. / Your hair is all tangled. Shadows of vice / weave a dazzling design. Oh, young men! Happy the man / who has never known passion's fire, / for he knows stars unseen by you / in the dark blue steep of the sky.»