Strong and wealthy have a hard time,
It is hard to all the lords.
I won't lower the light eyes
A red soldier before.
City's moaning and carousing,
Moon in cloud made of wine.
Not a living soul will touch me:
Poor and arrogant am I.
Плохо сильным и богатым,
Тяжко барскому плечу.
А вот я перед солдатом
Светлых глаз не опущу.
Город буйствует и стонет,
В винном облаке — луна.
А меня никто не тронет:
Я надменна и бедна.
«The evening sky is gold and vast. / I’m soothed by April’s cool caress. / You’re late. Too many years have passed, — / I’m glad to see you, nonetheless. Come closer, sit here by my side, / Be gentle with me, treat me kind: / This old blue notebook — look inside — / I wrot...»
«I am lost in the sky — what to do? / He to whom it is near, reply! / It was easier to ring for you, / Dante's discuses nine. Not I can be sundered from life. / Its dream is: to kill, then to kiss. / And my ears, my eyes, my eyeholes / Overflow with Florentine grief. Then lay not upon...»
«I’m given a body — what to do with thee, / So much unique, so much belong to me? For the quiet happiness to breathe and live / My gratefulness — to whom it shall I give? I’m a gardener and I’m a flower as well, / I’m not alone in th’ earthly prison cell. And all my breath and ...»
«A body was given to me — what to do with it, / So unique and so much my own? For the quiet joy of breathing and living, / Who is it, tell me, that I must thank? I am the gardener, I am the flower as well, / In the dungeon of the world I am not alone. On the glass of eternity has already ...»