Clear morning is not hot, lightly
You run through the meadow.
Down the Oka pulls a barge,
Very slow.
Several words without willing
You are repeating still.
Somewhere in the field is ringing
Weakly the bell.
Ring in the field? On the meadow?
Are they going to the prayer?
Eyes into somebody's fortune
For a moment stare.
Distance is blue between pine trees,
On threshing-floor voices ring...
And smiles the autumn
To our spring.
Life has flung open, but still...
Ah, days of gold!
Lord, how are they distant!
How are they distant, God!
Ясное утро не жарко,
Лугом бежишь налегке.
Медленно тянется барка
Вниз по Оке.
Несколько слов поневоле
Всe повторяешь подряд.
Где-то бубенчики в поле
Слабо звенят.
В поле звенят? На лугу ли?
Едут ли на молотьбу?
Глазки на миг заглянули
В чью-то судьбу.
Синяя даль между сосен,
Говор и гул на гумне...
И улыбается осень
Нашей весне.
Жизнь распахнулась, но всe же.
Ах, золотые деньки!
Как далеки они. Боже!
Господи, как далеки!
«All’s as it was: the snowstorm’s / Fine flakes wet the window pane, / And I myself am not new-born, / But a man came to me today. I asked: "What do you wish?" / He said: "To be with you in hell". / I laughed: "Ah, sadly, / No: perhaps you wish me ill." But, his dry hand touched / ...»
«I came to the poet as a guest. / Exactly at noon. On Sunday. / Beyond the window, frost, / Quiet in the room’s space. And a raspberry tinted sun / Above tangles of blue smoke... / How clearly the taciturn / Master turns, on me, his look! His eyes are of that kind / Remembered by on...»
«So many stones are thrown at me / That I no longer cower, / The turret’s cage is shapely, / High among high towers. / My thanks, to its builders, / May they evade pain and woe, / Here, I see suns rise earlier, / Here, their last splendours glow. / And often winds from northern seas...»
«My voice is weak but not my will, / It’s better even without love. / High skies and mountain winds, / And my thoughts now innocent. Insomnia, my nurse, is elsewhere. / I’m not brooding by cold ashes. / And the curved hand on the tower clock, / Is no longer a deadly arrow. How the p...»