A whip cracks in the wood, and cattle low
And through the underbrush are heard to
Crash heavily. Leaves rustle. Snowdrops show
Their blue heads here and there. A sudden, furtive
Wind starts to blow, and ashen clouds are swept
Across the skies, a cool, fresh rain presaging…
The heart grieves and is glad that life is, strangely,
Vast like the steppe and empty like the steppe.
В сухом лесу стреляет длинный кнут,
В кустарнике трещат коровы,
И синие подснежники цветут,
И под ногами лист шуршит дубовый.
И ходят дождевые облака,
И свежим ветром в сером поле дует,
И сердце в тайной радости тоскует,
Что жизнь, как степь, пуста и велика.
«Light clear drops by Time are beaded: / Hour past hour, day by day. Has my child by you been seeded? / Dug for you — this early grave? To our outcries — Time is silent! / Raise my hands to steely sky, — Pattern's end, last stitch, it's final. / Punctured canvas. Vacant sigh.»
«Step over, leap, run out, fly. / Steal over it, just move, be willing. / Like arrows — stream towards the sky. / Emblaze the haze, though you’re falling. Where could they be? Search 'round and sigh. / God knows on what you have been dwelling — / Hat... keys are lost or gone awry!»
«It is my last appeal to You — appear. / Let's share a feast of nightly inspiration! / Magnificent, o raise me up so near / To pinnacle where doom befell creation. Yield one last time! In life there is no course / Like farewells so holy, yet rough-watered. / As if my heart is a Lamb to ...»
«How mighty Time strives like a river, / Oh men, your deeds its current brings, / Negates and drowns in oblivion, / Outlasts all countries, realms and kings. / Remains are few, and if a lyre / Unbent sings "fame", or trumpet blasts / Infinity makes pride expire. / No swaying Fate, all w...»