I'll repeat in hour of parting
When love comes to end
That I loved, yes that I loved truly
Your masterful hands
And the eyes — somebody isn't
Gifted with a glance! —
Those that answer are demanding
For a look every chance.
You with your thrice-cursed passion —
God sees all, say I!
And demanding a payment for
An accidental sigh.
And I tiredly say, to listen
Hurry not at all!
Why is it that your own soul
Stands across my soul.
And again I'll also tell you:
All the same — hear this! —
Far too young was this my mouth
For your gentle kiss.
Glance is luminous and daring,
Heart — like five year old...
Happy's he who did not meet you
On your road.
Повторю в канун разлуки,
Под конец любви,
Что любила эти руки
Властные твои
И глаза — кого-кого-то
Взглядом не дарят! —
Требующие отчёта
За случайный взгляд.
Всю тебя с твоей треклятой
Страстью — видит Бог! —
Требующую расплаты
За случайный вздох.
И ещё скажу устало,
— Слушать не спеши! —
Что твоя душа мне встала
Поперёк души.
И ещё тебе скажу я:
— Всё равно — канун! —
Этот рот до поцелуя
Твоего был юн.
Взгляд — до взгляда — смел и светел,
Сердце — лет пяти…
Счастлив, кто тебя не встретил
На своём пути.
«February. Get out the ink and weep! / Sob in February, sob and sing / While the wet snow rumbles in the street / And burns with the black spring. / / Take a cab. For a coin / Be carried through church bells, the chirp of tyres / To a place where the torrential rain / Is louder stil...»
«And I shall tell you at the end: / farewell, don’t pledge self to love, helpless. / I go mad, or just ascend / to the high echelon of madness. How had you loved? — You’d put aside / even the Death. But ‘tis not matter. / How had you loved? You’d done that right, / but you ...»
«No, tsarevich, it’s not I — / That you’re fancying in bliss, / Know, my lips just prophesy, / And no longer kiss. And it’s not because I’m tortured / Or by delirium swayed / That I conjure up misfortune: / It is just my trade. I can teach you this, as well, — / To achieve...»
« Out of your memory, I will remove this day, / So that your helpless gaze can question in a drowse: / Where I did see the Persian lilac sway, / The little swallows, and the wooden house? Hearing my name, you’re going to recall / Unnamed desires’ anguish in a snap, / And in despondent...»