Chénier went up to meet the guillotine,
And I'm alive. That is a dreadful sin.
There are times that steel over everyone.
He is no bard who sings as bullets spin.
He is no father, trembling at the gate,
Whose arms rip battle-armor off his son.
There are times when the sun is deadly sin.
It is no human who today lives on.
Андрей Шенье взошёл на эшафот,
А я живу — и это страшный грех.
Есть времена — железные — для всех.
И не певец, кто в порохе — поёт.
И не отец, кто с сына у ворот
Дрожа срывает воинский доспех.
Есть времена, где солнце — смертный грех.
Не человек — кто в наши дни живёт.
«Now piece by piece we slip away / To that far land of peace and grace. / And perhaps must soon collect / My perishable chattels and set out. Sweet birch groves, and you, earth, / And you, sands of the plain! / I lack The strength to hide the dread aroused / By this horde of party souls....»
«The moon's still out. / Night has still not budged, / just ruling, unaware / that day is coming to, / albeit lazily and timidly. / Ray after ray creeps out of cloud, / though night in majesty / still shines across the sky. / Just give it three or four more moments / and night will ...»
«The forest is entranced / by Winter the Magician. / Under velvet snow / it's mute, immobile, glistening / wondrously with life, / standing enchanted, / neither dead nor alive, / entranced by a magic dream, / entirely covered, fettered / by light links of snow. / Should winter's ...»
«Lips which greet me with a smile, / a young girl’s rosy complexion, / your gaze which is bright and which sparkles.... / it all entices me to pleasure. Ah, this gaze in passion’s fire / on gossamer wings sends out desire, / and with some magical power / locks hearts in its fabulous ...»