In a window, light,
No one's asleep.
Drinking wine tonight?
Or not drinking it?
Or two lovers can't,
Let each other go...
Every house, friends,
Has this kind of window.
Trysts and partings scream —
Window in the dark!
Maybe — a hundred beams,
Maybe — just a sparkle...
None and no ease
There — for my mind now.
In my house there is
Now such a window.
Pray, my little friend, for a sleepless house,
And for light undoused!
Вот опять окно,
Где опять не спят.
Может — пьют вино,
Может — так сидят.
Или просто — рук
Не разнимут двое.
В каждом доме, друг,
Есть окно такое.
Не от свеч, от ламп темнота зажглась:
От бессонных глаз!
Крик разлук и встреч —
Ты, окно в ночи!
Может — сотни свеч,
Может — три свечи...
Нет и нет уму
Моему покоя.
И в моем дому
Завелось такое.
Помолись, дружок, за бессонный дом,
За окно с огнем!
«1 Tower-bell striking / There in the Kremlin. / Where on the earth is, / Where — Fortress of mine, / Meekness of mine, / Valor of mine, / Holy of mine. Tower-bell striking, / Left-behind striking. / Where on the earth is — / My / Home, / My — dream, / My — laugh,...»
«2 I lift the hands that I let fall / So long ago. / Into a black and empty window / Empty hands / I fling into mid-nocturnal striking / Clocks — I want / To go home! — Like this: head first / — From the tower! — Homeward! Not onto the cobbled square: / Into rustle and wh...»
«3 Harder and harder / Start wringing my hands! / Between us not earthly / Versts — but divisive / Celestial rivers, azure nations, / Where my friend is forever already — / Inalienable. The high road races / In silvery harness. / I don’t wring my hands! / I only extend them ...»
«4 Cover the bedstead / In swarthy olive. / The gods are jealous / Toward mortal love. Each rustle to them / Is distinct, each swish. / Know, this young man is dear / Not to you alone. Some one is incensed / With his luscious May-day. / Mind you, be wary / Of sharp-eyed heaven. ...»