The quiet waters of the factories’ pools —
The fully filled wounds of the rivers, stunned,
Deadly, the dams interrupted your run,
Deathly — the rhythmic machines' push and pull.
Smell of the sulfur and lime here steels, —
Instead of the one of the groves and grass,
Steadily, it’s drenched in — the poisoned mass,
Clear and simple are sizes of wheels.
Look! Sluices shuddered and waters poured,
The waterfall splashes with foam and streams!
Passing the buildings and gardens, it streams!
All obligations are fully forgot!
Now the shores are peaceful again
Noise behind hills and a whistle ceased...
The former flow is gentle and plain,
The waves are peaceful,... poisoned, diseased.
Тихие воды прудов фабричных,
Полные раны запруженных рек,
Плотно плотины прервали ваш бег,
Слышится шум машин ритмичных.
Запах известки сквозь запах серы —
Вместо покинутых рощ и трав.
Мирно вбирается яд отрав,
Ясны и просты колес размеры.
Хлынули воды, трепещут шлюзы,
Пеной и струями блещет скат!
Мимо — постройки, флигель, сад!
Вольно расторгнуты все союзы!
Снова прибрежности миром полны:
Шум — за горой, и умолк свисток...
Кроток по-прежнему прежний ток;
Ядом отравлены — мирны волны.
«Still around, old dear? How are you keeping? / I too am around. Hello to you! / May that magic twilight ever be streaming / Over your cottage as it used to do. People write how sad you are, and anxious / For my sake, though you won't tell them so, / And that you in your old-fashioned jack...»
«Die Gleichmasigkeit des Laufes / der Zeit in allen Kopfen beweist mehr, / als irgend etwas, das wir Alle in den- / selben Traum versenkt sind, ja das es / Ein Wesen ist, welches ihn traumt. / Schopenhauer By life tormented, and by cunning hope, / When my soul surrenders in its battle wi...»
«In the darkness and still of a mysterious night / I see a fond and welcoming spark, / From the chorus of spheres, familiar eyes / Shine upon a grave forgotten in the steppe. The grass has faded, the desert is grim, / A lonely tomb dreams an orphan's dream, / And only in the sky, like an e...»
«I wake. Yes, it's a coffin lid. — With effort / I reach my hands out and I call / For help. Yes, I recall the tortures / Of dying. — Yes, this is no dream! — / And without effort, like a spider web / I push aside my casket's rotting wood And stand. How bright the winter light appea...»