The rich man loved a poor woman,
The scientist loved a dumb woman,
The ruddy man loved a pale woman,
The kind man loved a bad woman,
And the gold a copper coin.
«Where, merchant, is your wealth all?»
«In a wallet that's full of holes!»
«Where, proud one, is what you know?»
«Under a girl's pillow.»
«Where are your red cheeks, gorgeous sight?»
«Whitened down in the black night.»
«Where is the cross with silver chain?»
«Under the girl's boots again.»
Rich man don't love a poor woman,
Scientist don't love a dumb woman,
Ruddy man don't love a pale woman,
Kind man don't love a bad woman,
And the gold a copper coin.
Полюбил богатый — бедную,
Полюбил учёный — глупую,
Полюбил румяный — бледную,
Полюбил хороший — вредную:
Золотой — полушку медную.
— Где, купец, твоё роскошество?
«Во дырявом во лукошечке!»
— Где, гордец, твои учёности?
«Под подушкой у девчоночки!»
— Где, красавец, щёки алые?
«За́ ночь чёрную — растаяли».
— Крест серебряный с цепочкою?
«У девчонки под сапожками!»
Не люби, богатый, — бедную,
Не люби, учёный, — глупую,
Не люби, румяный, — бледную,
Не люби, хороший, — вредную:
Золотой — полушку медную!
«My unglorious day is waning, / Finally the end has come… / Oh, my ash-tree ice! My verses, / Light-transparent frigid ones! I do not intend to leave my / Useless goods to anyone. / I shine up the crystal and the / Silver for myself alone. And my icon lamp is burning, / Getting rosy...»
«And truly, one cannot predict / Who in the world will be one’s reader: / A ball can’t know what it will hit / Once it’s shot into the distance. Well, then, my life-creating verse, / Whom I breathe and in whom I live, / Fly off into darkness, into the void, / Or simply, into the se...»
«People cut a hole through / The dark-blue thickness of ice: / An air vent for big fish and little, / Water for water hoistings, / A way out for a weary woman / If in the end life turned out / Not to be traveling her road, / If she had nowhere to go!»
«Chase poems of the night away, / No need for preemies of the spirit: / Since night assists you at their birth, / And night is an atrocious midwife. You madman! If you really do / Aspire to exalted singing, / Outstubborn, try to overcome / Your momentary excitation. Know this: the chatt...»