I today all night long could not sleep
From the magickal month-of-May noise!
Quietly pulled on the pantyhose
And to the window slipped.
I'm a rebel with whirlwind in the blood,
Only passion and cold matter to me.
I have read Bourge too: One can't be
Happy when one is unloved.
«He's» rejected since he was twelve,
Plays but Greeg and but Liszt — and come look:
He is smart and well-read, like a book,
And a poet as well!
For but one of his looks of fire
I am ready to fall on my knees!
But my parents our happiness
Do not desire.
Я сегодня всю ночь не усну
От волшебного майского гула!
Я тихонько чулки натянула
И скользнула к окну.
Я — мятежница с вихрем в крови,
Признаю только холод и страсть я.
Я читала Бурже: нету счастья
Вне любви!
«Он» отвержен с двенадцати лет,
Только Листа играет и Грига,
Он умён и начитан, как книга,
И поэт!
За один его пламенный взгляд
На колени готова упасть я!
Но родители нашего счастья
Не хотят…
«The smell of dark blue grapes is sweet… / Intoxicating vastness calls. / Your voice is flat and downbeat. / I pity no one, not a soul. The spiderwebs surround the berries, / Thin are the stems of supple vines, / The river’s bright blue water carries / The clouds of white like floes ...»
«And even with you we’ve parted, / My first fancy. The east grew blue. / “I will never forget you,” you uttered. / I could hardly suppose it was true. Faces emerge and vanish again, / Dear today, but tomorrow - strange. / But what exactly caused me to bend / The corner to mark this...»
«The park was filled with a light haze, / At the gates, flames of gaslights arose, / I remembered only one gaze, / Still unknowing, calm and composed. And your sorrow, hidden from others, / Drew me close and opened forthright, / And you saw just how much I was smothered / By the poisonou...»
«I live, like a cuckoo in a clock, / I don’t resent the forest flock. / Wind me — and I sing each time. / Such a fate as mine, / You know, / I could only wish my foe.»