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.
«He used to come here till he donned gold braid, / a good topcoat on, self-controlled, stoop-shouldered. / Arresting these cafe habitues – / he started snuffing out world culture somewhat later – / seemed sweet revenge (on Time, that is, not them) / for all the lack of cash, the sneer...»
«A far-off time arises in my memory, / The house in the Petersburg Quarters, / A humble daughter of the modest gentry, / Born in Kursk, you are here taking courses. You are cute, — you have many admirers. / This white night, it is only us two, / Sprawling out on your windowsill, tireless...»
«Onto my barely living chest, / The stone of the verdict fell. / But I was ready for this test, / Somehow, I’ll bear this hell. So much that I must do alone: / I’ll start by erasing the past, / I’ll turn my living soul to stone, / And learn to live, at last. Or else... The summer,...»
«I loved you, and that love to die refusing, / May still — who knows! Be smoldering in my breast. / Pray, be not pained — believe me, of my choosing / I’d never have you troubled nor yet distressed. I loved you mutely, hopelessly and truly, / With shy yet fervent, tenderness aglow; / ...»