6
The rain of bells drizzles above
The blue of near-Moscow groves.
Blind men wander the Kaluga road —
Beautiful — Kaluga — song, and the same
Washes and washes the names
Of peaceful wanderers, in darkness of ones praising God.
And I think at these times: Someday I
Of you, friends, and you, enemies, having tired,
And of compliance of Russian word —
A silver cross on my chest I will don
Cross myself and quietly go along
The old Kaluga road.
6
Над синевою подмосковных рощ
Накрапывает колокольный дождь.
Бредут слепцы калужскою дорогой, —
Калужской — песенной — прекрасной, и она
Смывает и смывает имена
Смиренных странников, во тьме поющих Бога.
И думаю: когда-нибудь и я,
Устав от вас, враги, от вас, друзья,
И от уступчивости речи русской, —
Одену крест серебряный на грудь,
Перекрещусь, и тихо тронусь в путь
По старой по дороге по калужской.
____
1. Облака — вокруг...
2. Из рук моих — нерукотворный град...
3. Мимо ночных башен...
4. Настанет день — печальный, говорят!..
5. Над городом, отвергнутым Петром...
6. Над синевою подмосковных рощ...
7. Семь холмов — как семь колоколов!..
8. — Москва! — Какой огромный...
9. Красною кистью...
«The ancient city seems neglected, / I’ve come here at a loss. / By his river, Vlad erected / A black heavy cross. Limes are loud, elms — effaced / In a swarthy horde, / Diamond-clustered stars are raised / Up high to the Lord. My sacrificial journey’s path / Here will come to e...»
«The black road was winding slowly, / And a drizzle started, / Someone asked if they could walk me / Home, before we parted. / I accepted, still afraid to / Look at him at all, / It became so strange, days later, / To recall that stroll. / Fog was spreading out like incense / From a...»
«How I love, how I loved to gaze endlessly / On the ironclad shores up ahead, / On the balconies, where for centuries, / Not a foot of a person was set. / You’re the capital — truly, forever, / For the mad and the bright ones, like us, / But, at the time, when over the Neva, / That ...»
«Here, human voice was never known / And never will it resonate, / And gusting from the age of stone, / The wind alone knocks on the gate. / It seems to me, that I was saved / And no one else here by design, — / Because I was the first who craved / And sought to taste the deadly wine.»