The evening mist appeared above the town,
Submissively, the trains sped through the haze,
Clear as the petals of anemones, a face
Flashed in a window, youthful and round.
A shadow on her eyelids. Like a crown,
Those golden curls… I hushed myself, amazed:
I understood that with our moans, we raise
The long deceased from underneath the ground.
In valley of my dreams, I’ve often greeted
— An apparition in the crowded station —
This youthful lady by the window seated.
But why was she so sad on this occasion?
What did this silhouette seek out and why?
Was she not happy — even in the sky?
Вечерний дым над городом возник,
Куда-то вдаль покорно шли вагоны,
Вдруг промелькнул, прозрачней анемоны,
В одном из окон полудетский лик.
На веках тень. Подобием короны
Лежали кудри... Я сдержала крик:
Мне стало ясно в этот краткий миг,
Что пробуждают мёртвых наших стоны.
С той девушкой у тёмного окна
— Виденьем рая в сутолке вокзальной —
Не раз встречалась я в долинах сна.
Но почему была она печальной?
Чего искал прозрачный силуэт?
Быть может ей — и в небе счастья нет?..
«I love your dear eyes, my friend, / With their play so bright and wondrous, / When you promptly rise them, and, / Like with a lightning in the wildness, / Embrace at once the whole land. But there's more fabulous attraction: / The eyes directed to the floor / During the crazy oscu...»
«I love your eyes, dear, / their fiery-playful games, / their sudden upward glances / slowly looking all around / like lightning-flames. There’s a more potent spell: / eyes lower. / A mouth hungers. / Lids almost close. / Sullen arousal glows.»
«Inconsolable anguish, I hail your sting! / Yesterday died the grey-eyed king. / The autumn evening was stifling and red, / My husband returned and casually said: / “Back from the hunt, with his body they walked, / They found him lying beside the old oak. / I pity the queen. So young! P...»
«Nothing chains a heart to heart, / If you’d like to leave. / Many joys will life impart / On the one who’s free. I don’t cry, complain or pout, / Mine is not a life of bliss. / Do not kiss me, all worn out, — / Death will come to kiss. Bitter languor has been weathered / With...»