I don't disturb, I do not sing
With a woman's poison. Hand
That is loyal I give to you —
Right one, that will hold the pen.
That, with which I form the cross
In the beauty of the night.
That, with which the things that God
Did command to me I write.
My left hand is daring,
Flattering and also sly.
Here to you the righteous
And right hand do proffer I.
Не смущаю, не пою
Женскою отравою.
Руку верную даю —
Пишущую, правую.
Той, которою крещу
На ночь — ненаглядную
Той, которою пишу
То, что Богом задано.
Левая — она дерзка,
Льстивая, лукавая.
Вот тебе моя рука —
Праведная, правая!
«There’s still the twilight of the night. / The world’s so young in its proceeding, / That there are countless stars outside / And each one, like the day, is bright / And if the Earth could so decide, / She’d sleep through Easter in delight, / Hearing the Psalter reading. There’s...»
«Deep in Siberia's mines, let naught / Subdue your proud and patient spirit. / Your crushing toil and lofty thought / Shall not be wasted — do not fear it. Misfortune's sister, hope sublime, / From sombre dungeon pain will banish; / Joy will awake and sorrow vanish... / 'Twill come, th...»
«Fire and rope, bullet and axe — / These faithful servants at our backs. / In every drop there slept a flood, / From every stone a mountain lloomed. / And in each trampled twig / Black-handed forests sighed and moaned. Falsehood gorged itself from our plates, / Bells sounded only ...»
«The fire and the page, the hewed hairs and the swords, / The grains and the millstone, the whispers and the clatter — / God saves all that — especially the words / Of love and pity, as His only way to utter. The harsh pulse pounds and the blood torrent whips, / The spade knocks even...»