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.
«Quoth nature unto me in tones of stately scorning: / "Begone, and break not in upon my harmony! / I weary of thy tears; mar not with anguished mourning / The calm wherewith my azure nights encompass me. "All have I given thee, — life, youth and freedom given, / But thou in senseless feud...»
«The eventide fondled the earth in farewell, / And in its suspense not a leaf dared to sway; / The creak of a cart far away rose and fell, / Stars marshalled aquiver in silent array. Clear-blue is the sky, — deep and strange is its guise; / But look not upon it with glances that crave, / ...»
«Not bloodshed, nor ills we engender, / Could yet fling a mantle of gloom / On the heavenly palace of splendour, / Or on earth with the lure of its bloom. As of old, we are tenderly ravished / By valleys and blossoms and rills; / Unchanging, the starlight is lavished, / And the tune that...»
«Far above the stretch of hills / The east has flung its lustre round; / Moistened breath of night-time fills / Clods of plough-uprooted ground. See, how with his measured pace / O'er the fields the sower goes; / Calm, as in God's holy place / On earth and in the heaven flows. A sacred ...»