Dying is sweet
On the battle-field
In the hissing of arrows and spears,
When the trumpet sounds
And the sun of noon
Is shining,
Dying for country's glory
And hearing around you:
"Hero, farewell!"
Dying is sweet
For an old, venerable man
In the house
On the bed
Where your forebears were born,—where they died,
Surrounded by children
Grown men,
And hearing around you:
"Father, farewell!"
But sweeter,
Wiser,
Having spent the last penny,
Having sold the last mill
For a woman
Who the next day is forgotten,
Having come
From a gay promenade
To the sold, dismantled mansion
To sup,
And to read the tale of Apuleius:
The hundred and first reading,—
In the warm, fragrant bath,
Hearing no farewell,
To open your veins;
And through the long skylight
Must come the scent of stock-gilliflower;
Dawn must be glowing,
And flutes be heard from afar.
Сладко умереть
на поле битвы
при свисте стрел и копий,
когда звучит труба
и солнце светит,
в полдень,
умирая для славы отчизны
и слыша вокруг:
«Прощай, герой!»
Сладко умереть
маститым старцем
в том же доме,
на той же кровати,
где родились и умерли деды,
окруженным детьми,
ставшими уже мужами,
и слыша вокруг:
«Прощай, отец!»
Но еще слаще,
еще мудрее,
истративши все именье,
продавши последнюю мельницу
для той,
которую завтра забыл бы,
вернувшись
после веселой прогулки
в уже проданный дом,
поужинать
и, прочитав рассказ Апулея
в сто первый раз,
в теплой душистой ванне,
не слыша никаких прощаний,
открыть себе жилы;
и чтоб в длинное окно у потолка
пахло левкоями,
светила заря,
и вдалеке были слышны флейты.
«While lounging in a chair, I looked up at the ceiling / Where, teasing my imagination, / A circle hangs above the quiet lamp, / And spins just like a ghostly shadow. Within the flicker there's a trace of autumn sunset: / As if, above the rooftop and the garden, / Unable to fly off, afraid...»
«My face turned upwards to the sky / One summer night I lay upon some hay / A lively close-knit starry chorus / Was flickering all around. The mute earth, nebulous and dreamlike, / Rushed off without a trace / And I, like Eden's first inhabitant, / Faced night's gaze all alone. Was it ...»
«I have come to you with greetings / To tell you the sun has risen, / To say that its burning light / Through the leaves has sent a flutter; To say that the woods have waked, / Every corner, and every twig, / Every bird has taken wing / Full of appetite for spring; To say I have come a...»
«What grief! The alley's end / Is lost in snow again today, / And once again, the silver snakes / Are crawling through the snow. The sky's without a patch of blue, / The steppe's completely smooth and white, / A single crow is struggling hard / To beat its wings against the storm. My s...»