Should you deplore the loss of youthful days?
You haven’t changed, in all your splendour,
With time your charming grace
Has come to be more glamorous and tender.
Your friend does not appreciate
The art of love, mysterious and pleasing,
Her eyes are silent, lifeless and inanimate
Her kiss is shy , without feeling.
But you, great mistress of my love,
Will even breathe in passion
in a boulder,
and in the prime of your unfading life
the flame in living blood will never moulder.
Тебе ль оплакивать утрату юных дней?
Ты в красоте не изменилась
И для любви моей
От времени ещё прелестнее явилась.
Твой друг не дорожит неопытной красой,
Незрелой в таинствах любовного искусства.
Без жизни взор её стыдливый и немой,
И робкий поцалуй без чувства.
Но ты, владычица любви,
Ты страсть вдохнёшь и в мёртвый камень;
И в осень дней твоих не погасает пламень,
Текущий с жизнию в крови.
«OK, Graylegs, time to set the plow / aside. Rainstorm lashes our faces. / Time to turn back to the barn, / to dinner, dreams, and darkness.»
«I swam across the Sudak Gulf, / I rode a wild horse. / I shouted: / "Russia has perished, is no more, / partitioned now like Poland!" / And people stared in horror. / I said: / "The heart of a modern Russian hangs like a bat." / And ...»
«The tangled wood was full of sound / the forest screamed, the forest groaned / with fear / to see the spear-man beast his spear. Why does hart's horn hang heavy / with the moving mark of love? / Arrow's flash of metal hits a haunch, / and reckons right. Now beast is broken to his knees...»
«I see them: Crab, Ram, Bull, / and all the world is only shell / whose pearl and opalescence / is my impotence. / A knock, a chirr, container of whistle and rustle, / and I realize then that waves and thought are kin. / Here, there, in milky ways, women rise / through darkness drunk on...»