Blanch — faced
Guardian of the age-old lapping —
Knight, knight,
Keeping watch on the river.
(O could I find peace
In it from arms and mouths?!)
Sen — ti — nel
Set at your post of partings.
The oaths, the rings...
Yes, like stones into the river
How many — of us
Over four centuries!
Admission into the waters
Is free. As are roses — in bloom!
He's thrown me over — I'll throw myself over!
That's vengeance for you!
We never tire of this
— So long as passion exists!
Taking our vengeance off bridges.
Making short but wide work of us,
My wings! Into the slime,
Into the scum — like brocade!
No lament for the moment
Over the bridge — toll!
— "Off a fatal bridge
Down — I dare myself!"
I, at a level with you,
Prague Knight.
Whether it's sweetness or sadness
In it — is clearer to you,
Knight, watching over
The river — of days.
Бледно — лицый
Страж над плеском века —
Рыцарь, рыцарь,
Стерегущий реку.
(О найду ль в ней
Мир от губ и рук?!)
Ка — ра — ульный
На посту разлук.
Клятвы, кольца…
Да, но камнем в реку
Нас-то — сколько
За четыре века!
В воду пропуск
Вольный. Розам — цвесть!
Бросил — брошусь!
Вот тебе и месть!
Не устанем
Мы — доколе страсть есть!
Мстить мостами.
Широко расправьтесь,
Крылья! В тину,
В пену — как в парчу!
Мосто — вины
Нынче не плачу!
— «С рокового мосту
Вниз — отважься!»
Я тебе по росту,
Рыцарь пражский.
Сласть ли, грусть ли
В ней — тебе видней,
Рыцарь, стерегущий
Реку — дней.
«In this birch grove of quietness / Faraway from disasters and plights, / Where at dawn there oscillates / The unwinking and rosy light, / Where as if a clear avalanche / Leaves pour down from branches on high, / Sing me, oriole, song of a hermit`s chance, / Song about my life. Having ...»
«When faints the heart for sorrow, / In life's hard, darkened hour, / My spirit breathes a wondrous prayer / Full of love's inward power. There is a might inspiring / Each consecrated word, / That speaks the inconceivable / And holy will of God. The heavy load slips from my heart — / ...»
«There`s time when all is well and even fine, / But why it`s so you can`t explain, / Maybe by reason of the rain, / The proper summer rain. The glimpse of a familiar face in crowd, / A stranger`s riant eyes, / Inside of which there runs the Garden Ring, / Inside of which there shines the...»
«Mason who wears his white-snow apron, / What are you building, for whom? / Do not interfere with us, we are so busy, / What are we building? A jail. Mason who works with his sacrosant trowel, / Who will be crying in there? / Someone but you and your opulent brother, / None of you will h...»