1
In a shady ring my eyes
She surrounded — insomnia.
With a shady wreath insomnia
Did my eyes bind.
At night — the same!
To idols don't pray.
Idol-worshipper — I'll give
Your secret away.
To you — day's not enough,
Fire of sun above!
You pale-faced one, wear
My rings' pair!
You screamed — and proclaimed
The wreath of shade.
Enough — did you — call me?
Enough — did you — sleep with me?
People bow to you.
Light in face you'll lie.
I'll be reader to you,
I, insomnia:
Sleep, soothed,
Sleep, rewarded one,
Sleep, wreathed,
Woman.
That - you would sleep — easy,
I will sing — to thee:
"Never-silent one,
Go to sleep, my girl,
You the sleepless one,
Sleep, my little pearl."
And to whom we didn't write letters so,
And to whom we did not vow..
Sleep.
Here now parted are
The inseparable.
Here released from arms
Are your little arms.
Here you're tormented,
My dear tormentess.
Sleep's — holy.
All — sleep.
Wreath's — gone.
1
Обвела мне глаза кольцом
Теневым — бессонница.
Оплела мне глаза бессонница
Теневым венцом.
То-то же! По ночам
Не молись — идолам!
Я твою тайну выдала,
Идолопоклонница.
Мало — тебе — дня,
Солнечного огня!
Пару моих колец
Носи, бледноликая!
Кликала — и накликала
Теневой венец.
Мало — меня — звала?
Мало — со мной — спала?
Ляжешь, легка лицом.
Люди поклонятся.
Буду тебе чтецом
Я, бессонница:
— Спи, успокоена,
Спи, удостоена,
Спи, увенчана,
Женщина.
Чтобы — спалось — легче,
Буду — тебе — певчим:
— Спи, подруженька
Неугомонная!
Спи, жемчужинка,
Спи, бессонная.
И кому ни писали писем,
И кому с тобой ни клялись мы…
Спи себе.
Вот и разлучены
Неразлучные.
Вот и выпущены из рук
Твои рученьки.
Вот ты и отмучилась,
Милая мученица.
Сон — свят,
Все — спят.
Венец — снят.
«It wasn’t at all that quite mysterious painter, / Which has well-pictured Hoffmann’s misty dreams, — / From that unknown and far spring, it seems, / I can observe a plantain in its flatter. And it was greening — our town, plain, / Trimming its steps, like some wings, wide and soari...»
«Thank you, God: I dream of him more seldom, / And don’t see him now in every place, / The white path with clouds has been laden, / Easy shadows o’er the waters raced. / And all day the chime of bells arose / O’er the ocean of the ploughed soil; / Here the toll is best-heard from Sa...»
«There are the words that couldn’t be twice said, / He, who said once, spent out all his senses. / Only two things have never their end — / The heavens’ blue and the Creator’s mercy.»
«There is she, the fruit-bearing autumn! / Somewhat late they denounced her birth, / ‘Cause for fifteen blessed springs I was molten / And could not rise myself from the earth. / Then I had recognized her, belated, / Pressed myself against her and embraced, / And the autumn to me, execr...»