With thorn, not with laurel
As a king crowned,
In a saddle — with wings!
Around the shape narrow
On the black velvet
Maltese gold is.
Unbreakable thorn
Needles — a vow
To friend and God.
High bending
Of a swan, on the side
A Maltese sword.
The knight of Maltese
Order — George,
Midst sleepers — aware.
The knight of Maltese
Order — George,
At wives doesn't stare...
Не лавром, а терном
На царство венчанный,
В седле — а крылатый!
Вкруг узкого стана
На бархате чёрном
Мальтийское злато.
Нетленные иглы
Терновые — Богу
И Другу присяга.
Высокий загиб
Лебединый, а с боку
Мальтийская шпага.
Мальтийского Ордена
Рыцарь — Георгий,
Меж спящими — бдящий.
Мальтийского Ордена
Рыцарь — Георгий,
На жён не глядящий...
«Take it easy and do not swear! / Why my words in streets should I vend? / And the red head, which I still bear, / Grew so heavy, my neck is bent. And I never had love for city, / And with village I broke a bond. / I'll give `up all without a pity, / Grow a beard, become a...»
«If from the garden, this stupid maple / Spreading his branches would fly away! / Oh, if he could behave this way, / Oh, if he only would be able! / But he 's just thickening every week, / And all is leaving, but not leaving. / What is the point to be so weak / And stay whole...»
«You lost your Russia. 'Tis the end. / Did you oppose an element / Of bliss to one of evil and dark? / No? Then shut up! Missing the mark, / Your fate has sent you to a land / Cold, not affectionate, foreign, and / Your moans and sighs there in vain. / Russia 's not free. One...»
«Bliss is in the sparkles red, / Inspirations, flying and bright, / In our dreams, subtle and light, / In your eyes, tired and sad. Woe 's no faith, but reason, / Not to trust, but just to know, / Prophets, subject to derision, / And the search of bliss is a woe.»