17
Thus, O the Lord! And this my prayer
Accept for temple's confirmation.
I sing not pleasures of my love —
I sing the wound of my nation.
Not nasty person's rusty trunk —
Granite, with people's knees rubbed coarse.
Hero and tsar given to all,
To all — a singer — righteous — corpse.
Not bashful at the coffin boards,
Breaking upon Dnieper the ices,
Russia — on Easter it does swim
In pouring streams of thousand-voices.
Thus, heart, there will be cry and praise!
Let your cry — which thousand?
The mortal love is jealous so.
The other's at the chorus glad.
17
Так, Господи! И мой обол
Прими на утвержденье храма.
Не свой любовный произвол
Пою — своей отчизны рану.
Не скаредника ржавый ларь —
Гранит, коленами протёртый.
Всем отданы герой и царь,
Всем — праведник — певец — и мёртвый.
Днепром разламывая лёд,
Гробо́вым не смущаясь тёсом,
Русь — Пасхою к тебе плывёт,
Разливом тысячеголосым.
Так, сердце, плачь и славословь!
Пусть вопль твой — тысяча который? —
Ревнует смертная любовь.
Другая — радуется хору.
«February. Get ink and weep! / Burst into sobs — to write and write / of February, while thundering slush / burns like black spring. For half a rouble hire a cab, / ride through chimes and the wheel's cry / to where the drenching rain is black, / louder than tears or ink — where lik...»
«Oh February. To get ink and weep! / To write of February, sob it out, / While slush is blazing through the deep, / Black spring and spreading on the ground. To rent a buggy. For six grivnas, / Amidst the church-bells, clanking wheels, / To steer it where a shower drizzles / Still louder...»
«I’ve learned to live now wisely and simply, / Look to the sky and pray upon my knees, / And wander quietly outside each evening / To beat the useless feeling of unease. As burdocks rustle in the gully in the distance, / And yellow-crimson rowan clusters swell, / I’m writing happy vers...»
«A wise and simple life I learned to live, / I pray to God in quiet meditation, / I take long wanderings before the eve / To weary the unneeded angst and tension. With burdock rustling; and the rowan red / And yellow berries gradually fading, / I form the joyous verses in my head / That ...»