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.
«Like right and left arms, here, / Your soul to my soul is near. In bliss and warmth we to each other cling / Like right wing and left wing. But garland rises — and lays the abyss / Between the left and the right wings!»
«Inept and aimless is my time: / I ask a beggar for a dime / I proffer cash to rich and famous, Into the needle ray I weave, / Unto a robber key I give, / With whiting I am blushing paleness. The bum puts nothing in my palms, / The rich man does not take my alms, / The needle won't let ...»
«Who didn't build homes with his hand / Does not merit the land. Who the homes did not build / The earth will not be: / Ash — Straw... I did not build the home.»
«Cradle, that is wound up in red! / Cradle, that is rocked by the rabble! / Soldiers' thunder — by the evening — past the temples.. / And beautiful grows up the kid. With the milk of Ryazan's wet nurse / He sucked in inheritance's goods: / Flag — and the tri-unity of God. / Russ...»