Strait the passage, slender, long,
Reaching depths where visions throng.
Sinking down, you turn your eyes
Where an ice-wrought castle lies.
When from here you sink below,
Twinkling shafts of colour glow;
Someone's peeping eyes are seen —
Adamant and moonstone sheen.
There's the snowy opal; here
Budding emeralds appear.
Hearken — in these castles be
Flutes and lutes and dainty glee.
Whose may be the feet that don
Crystal shoon you gaze upon?
Ice in pillars, lustre, snow,
Dainty, flaky, pearly glow.
Strait the passage, slender, long,
Reaching realms where splendours throng;
But to find the path you need,
You must set your foot with heed.
Тонкий, узкий, длинный ход
В глубь земли мечту ведёт.
Только спустишься туда,
Встретишь замки изо льда.
Чуть сойдёшь отсюда вниз,
Разноцветности зажглись,
Смотрит чей-то светлый глаз,
Лунный камень и алмаз.
Там опал снежит, а тут
Расцветает изумруд.
И услышишь в замках тех
Флейты, лютни, нежный смех.
И увидишь чьих-то ног
Там хрустальный башмачок.
Льды, колонны, свет, снега,
Нежность, снежность, жемчуга.
Тонкий, узкий, длинный ход
В этот светлый мир ведёт.
Но, чтоб знать туда пути,
Нужно бережно идти.
«It sounded above the clear river, / It rang out in the fading meadow, / It swept above the silent grove, / It lit up the opposite shore. Into the distant twilight / The river wound to the west. / Clouds, losing their gold hems, / Drifted like billows of smoke. From the hillock — firs...»
«He arrived back, a blue glacier, / Those nights from Tamara, / And then and again his wings marked / Where whir and nightmare should end. He did not sob, did not bind up / The exposed lash-striped scars. / His slab has survived beyond / The fence of a Georgian church. How strange that ...»
«Later on, there was the loft with hay / And it smelled like a wine cork / While August ran out of days / And weeds took over like the tropics. In the grass, on the sorrel, beads / Of sullen diamonds hung, / Chilling the taste-buds / Reminding of Riesling. September made headlines / D...»
«To Love, — to leave, — with the thunder not ceasing, / Trampled by boredom not even knowing the boot’s tread, / Tripping over a hedgehog, and then, for good, repaying / The cowberry’s evil with a gossamer’s web. To drink from the bough while the face / Recoils from Prussian blue l...»