The light will burn and darken, then burn with stronger blaze,
But unreturning darkens the sheen of youthful days.
Glow then, and be enkindled, the while thou still art young,
Let ever more undwindled the heart's loud chords be strung,
That something be remembered in waning years of woe,
That chill old-age be lighted by that decayless glow,
Born of exalted fancies, and headstrong youth's ado,
Heedless, but full of splendour, heedless and hallowed, too.
Свеча горит и меркнет и вновь горит сильней,
Но меркнет безвозвратно сиянье юных дней,
Гори же, разгорайся, пока ещё ты юн,
Сильней, полней касайся сердечных звонких струн.
Чтоб было что припомнить на склоне трудных лет,
Чтоб старости холодной светил нетленный свет —
Мечтаний благородных, порывов молодых,
Безумных, но прекрасных, безумных — и святых.
«Where can I hide in this January? / Wide-open city with a mad death-grip... / Can I be drunk from sealed doors? — / I want to bellow from locks and knots... And the socks of barking back roads, / and the hovels on twisted streets — / and deadbeats hurry into corners / and hurriedly ...»
«The farmhouse is lonely without me, / and my old dog is gone from the door; / God sent me to die in the backstreets / and I can’t go home any more. I’m in love with this overdone city, / though it’s dirty and falling apart; / it reminds me of stories at bedtime, / and the street s...»
«Some things succeed, and some things fail; / everything’s nonsense that passes away... But even so this reddish-brown grass / which grows by a gate in the fence will last. ...If Russian speech has the power to go / back to the land where the Neva flows — / from Paris I send these muddl...»
«Will I ever forget it, that mythical night: / in the blaze of the setting sun / an abyss divided the sky in two / and the street lamps came on one by one. I sat in a crowd by the window while somewhere / an orchestra sang about love; / I sent you a rose in a glass of champagne / as gold...»