Veins filled with sun — not blood —
On my hand, brown so soon.
I am at one with my great love
To own my soul.
I am waiting for a grasshopper, I count to a hundred,
Chewing a stalk's spine...
— Strange to feel so strongly and so simply
The fleetingness of life — and mine.
Солнцем жилки налиты — не кровью —
На руке, коричневой уже.
Я одна с моей большой любовью
К собственной моей душе.
Жду кузнечика, считаю до ста,
Стебелёк срываю и жую…
— Странно чувствовать так сильно и так просто
Мимолётность жизни — и свою.
«A whisper, a gentle sigh, / Trills of the nightingale; / The silver flash of the brook / Asleep in the sleepy vale. The shadow and shine of night / Shadows in endless race; / The sweep of a magical change / Over a sweet young face. The blush of a rose in the mist, / An amber glea...»
«Wondrous the picture, — / How homelike to me! / Distant plain whitening, / Full moon on the lea; Light — in the heavens high, / And snow flashing bright; / Sledge in the distance / In its lonely flight.»
«At times there comes a strange smell wafting; / From whence its source I cannot say. / But I relive what’s been dark often, / A kind of smoldering foggy day. Like then, once more I climb up sadly / The run-down porch at evening / And once again unlatch the creaking / Bolt turning on t...»
«So early that it hadn’t dawned, / The ringing windowpanes awoke me. / A moistened pretzel made of stone, — / Beneath me, Venice floated calmly. Now, all was calm, but all the while, / While still asleep, I heard a cry / And like a mark that had been silenced, / It still disturbed th...»