3
You are going — west of the sun now.
You will see there — evening light.
You are going — west of the sun and
snow will cover up your tracks.
Past my windows — passionless
you are going in quiet snow.
Saint of God, beautiful, you
are the quiet light of my soul
but I do not long for your spirit.
Your way is indestructible.
And your hand is pale from holy
kisses, no nail of mine.
By your name I shall not call you.
My hands shall not stretch after you
to your holy waxen face I shall
only bow — from afar
standing under the slow falling snow, I shall
fall to my knees — in the snow.
In your holy name I shall only
kiss that evening snow
where, with majestic pace you
go by in tomb-like quiet,
the light of quiet — holy glory
of it: Keeper of my soul.
3
Ты проходишь на Запад Солнца,
Ты увидишь вечерний свет,
Ты проходишь на Запад Солнца,
И метель заметает след.
Мимо окон моих — бесстрастный —
Ты пройдёшь в снеговой тиши,
Божий праведник мой прекрасный,
Свете тихий моей души.
Я на душу твою — не зарюсь!
Нерушима твоя стезя.
В руку, бледную от лобзаний,
Не вобью своего гвоздя.
И по имени не окликну,
И руками не потянусь.
Восковому святому лику
Только издали поклонюсь.
И, под медленным снегом стоя,
Опущусь на колени в снег,
И во имя твоё святое,
Поцелую вечерний снег. —
Там, где поступью величавой
Ты прошёл в гробовой тиши,
Свете тихий — святыя славы —
Вседержитель моей души.
«It’s cold in the world! A bed / Seems like heaven in autumn. / The hop is wavered by wind, / The hop prattles above the barn; / The rain repeats: pit-a-pat, / Onto the courtyard, pours and pours... / The light from the window — so weak! / To a child’s heart — so bitter! / The...»
«An evening smoke appeared above the city, / Into the distance, docilely went the train cars, / Suddenly, a streak, more limpid than an anemone / In one of the windows, a half-child’s countenance. On the eyelids, a shadow. With a crown’s likeness / Lay the curls… I stifled a scream. / ...»
«I do not know you and do not want / Our meeting to wipe away illusion / With a face like this in worse abysses / One is still faithful to the starlight. / / Everyone marked by fate / Has their face closed. / You, a page in a book still unread / And never you can turn a slave. / ...»
«A mouth like blood, green eyes, / And a smile, haggardly evil... / Oh, there’s no hiding it, I see: / You’re the pale moon’s beloved. Even in daytime, over you did not weaken / The night legends of distant childhood, / That is why you are no one’s from birth, / That is why you h...»