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.
«Some gaze into tender faces, / Others drink until morning light, / But all night I hold conversations / With my conscience who is always right. I say to her: "You know how tired I am, / Bearing your heavy burden, many years." / But for her, there is no such thing as time, / And for her,...»
«O.M. And the town is frozen solid, leaden with ice. / Trees, walls, snow, seem to be under glass. / Cautiously I tread on crystals. / The painted sleighs can’t get a grip. / And over the statue of Peter-in-Voronezh / Are crows, and populars, and a pale-green dome / Washed-out and mudd...»
«I shall come into your dream / As a black ewe, approach the throne / On withered and infirm / Legs, bleating: "Padishah, Have you dined well? You who hold / The world like a bead, beloved / of Allah, was my little son / To your taste, was he fat enough"»
«Down and away flew the melting snow; / cheeks burned red and glistened. / I had not thought the moon was so small / or the clouds so smokily distant. Asking for nothing, I’ll go away, / for my number is up, for ever. / I had not thought the moon was so fair / or so feaful up in heaven...»