Above dark, rippled waters rises in retreat
Earth's heavy mass: the spines and rocky crests defying
The tortured steep in torrents of red rubble lying —
A lifeless land, its mourning reaches at my feet.
Sad dreams and solemn dreams flow by me, bitter-sweet:
Earth ancient and obscure, whose echoing bays are sighing,
Where in late twilight with a sadder beauty dying
The waves in waste hexameters billow and beat.
And where no roadways run upon the dark's still rivers,
Breathing an ancient mystery, the dim sail swells and quivers
With winds of tossed desire and seas that lift and fall.
An alien tremor takes my ship upon its going
Where destined roads of daring and retribution call.
And lamp-like in the sky the Seven Stars are glowing.
Над зыбкой рябью вод встает из глубины
Пустынный кряж земли: хребты скалистых гребней,
Обрывы черные, потоки красных щебней –
Пределы скорбные незнаемой страны.
Я вижу грустные, торжественные сны –
Заливы гулкие земли глухой и древней,
Где в поздних сумерках грустнее и напевней
Звучат пустынные гекзаметры волны.
И парус в темноте, скользя по бездорожью,
Трепещет древнею, таинственною дрожью
Ветров тоскующих и дышащих зыбей.
Путем назначенным дерзанья и возмездья
Стремит мою ладью глухая дрожь морей,
И в небе теплятся лампады Семизвездья.
«Nothing chains a heart to heart, / If you’d like to leave. / Many joys will life impart / On the one who’s free. I don’t cry, complain or pout, / Mine is not a life of bliss. / Do not kiss me, all worn out, — / Death will come to kiss. Bitter languor has been weathered / With...»
«Here we’re all drunkards and whores, / Joylessly stuck together! / On the walls, birds and flowers / Pine for the clouds and air. The smoke from your black pipe / Makes strange vapours rise. / The skirt I wear is tight, / Revealing my slim thighs. Windows tightly closed: / Who’s ...»
«...And no-one came to meet me / Carrying a lantern. / The house quiet: my entry / By moonlight uncertain. Under the green lamp, / His smile was lifeless, / Whispering: "Cinderella, / How strange your voice..." Flames of the fire dying: / Wearily, cricket chirping. / Ah! Someone’s...»
«My imagination, obediently, / Conceives grey eyes. / In Tver, in my solitude, / It’s you I bitterly remember. Happily captive in another’s arms, / On the left bank of the Neva, / My famed contemporary, / You have all that you desired; You who told me: Enough, / Go now, quench you...»