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.
«I — am. You — will be. Between us — store of wisdom. / I drink. You thirsty. Agreement — usellessness. / Us dozens, centuries, hundred thousands years / Separate. — God does not build bridges. Please, Be! — this is my commandment. / Please, Let me pass by, with b'ated breat...»
«In midst of waves, there are the silver beads / And scraped by time paints of the white enamel… / I so like the morns which autumn breeds, / For their caress, so short and so gentle. And I do like the foam on the shore, / When it again is whitening in mire, / And, greedy, I am hiding he...»
«I thought that the heart made of stone, / That it’s fully empty and dead: / Though fire in it had been thrown, / It’s not damaged or just upset. And that’s right: it was not tormented, / If — painful, then only a bit, / But, yet, it is better to end it, / Put out, while you can ...»
«Le silence est l’ame des choses. / Rollinat My life’s burden’s for me light and shone, / I won’t you to be baffled or wound; / And not God, who had thought on a stone — / I do pity the stone he’s found. I do pity the violet, faded — / Just in vain — just forgot among pag...»