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...
«Everything’s changed, nothing has changed / in the strange chill, strange chill of dawn. / I’ve dreamed many dreams over the years / and now I awake – with the years all gone. Here we go, here I stand in an autumn field / (changed, unchanged, I don’t understand) — / as if I’ve...»
«O Muse of Weeping... / — M. Tsvetaeva I have turned aside from everything, / From the whole earthly store. / The spirit and guardian of this place / is an old tree-stump in water. We are brief guests of the earth, as it were, / And life is a habit we put on. / On paths of air I seem ...»
«It’s good that Russia has no Tsar, / it’s good that Russia’s just a dream, / it’s good that God has disappeared, that nothing’s real, except the stars / in icy skies, the yellow gleam / of dawn, the unrelenting years. It’s good that people don’t exist, / that nothingness is...»
«The sun fills my room, / Yellow dust drifts aslant. / I wake up and remember: / This is your saint’s day. That’s why even the snow / Outside my window is warm, / Why I, sleepless, have slept / Like a communicant.»