The sense of your bidding is unclear:
to pray, to curse, is it, to fight
you bid me, inscrutable genius?
The spring slackens, niggard, meager,
and Benozzo Gozzoli's courier
dozes in the drowsy thickets.
Hills are dark with honeyed cloud.
Look: I do not touch lithe strings.
Your gaze, prophetically flying,
is clenched, gushes no winged streams,
and beckons by no May road, trying
to outstrip Hermes in his flight.
Hobbled horses do not neigh,
Aging warriors sprawl in disarray...
Hold your palms open wide!
Risen spring is bright,
but groves of darkness are not given
to leap for joy having leapt from dreams.
The groom names not the hour,
be not guiled to tarry,
hark through ice the clarion voice,
your flax is drenched with chrism,
and, bidding goodbye to numb laze,
free, in love, you will rise.
Невнятен смысл твоих велений:
Молиться ль, проклинать, бороться ли
Велишь мне, непонятный гений?
Родник скудеет, скуп и мал,
И скороход Беноццо Гоццоли
В дремучих дебрях задремал.
Холмы темны медяной тучей.
Смотри: я стройных струн не трогаю.
Твой взор, пророчески летучий,
Закрыт, крылатых струй не льёт,
Не манит майскою дорогою
Опережать Гермесов лёт.
Не ржут стреноженные кони,
Раскинулись, дряхлея, воины...
Держи отверстыми ладони!
Красна воскресная весна,
Но рощи тьмы не удостоены
Взыграть, воспрянув ото сна.
Жених не назначает часа,
Не соблазняйся промедлением,
Лови чрез лёд призывы гласа.
Елеем напоен твой лён,
И, распростясь с ленивым млением,
Воскреснешь, волен и влюблён.
«Day comes and my forgotten dust / Returns to the bosom of brambles and springs. / My mind falls asleep, but in quantum worlds / A little grasshopper opens wide its wings. And crossing the sky overhead, / Miniscule stars appear in formation, / And with outstretched wings it sings / Its f...»
«The world has a single facet, but nature has two, / And rushing to imitate the archetype, / The free and greedy soul / Ripens every year in spite. Isn't it strange, that in the universe's expanse, / In the living family of planets and stars, / Love neutralizes grief / And light overcome...»
«The forest choir had just fallen silent, / A finch was about to release its voice. / In a crown of leaves a nightingale's silhouette / Alone, unceasing above, began to rejoice. O insidious passion, the more I pursue you, / The less am I able to ridicule. / Have you the power, insignifican...»
«Barely swaying / At a point where the winds cross, / Light birds hung / Like icon lamps amid the heavens. Their tiny telescopic eyes / Peered straight down. / People crawled like bed-bugs, / And brooks meandered. A mouse ran across a field, / And a bird pounced on it. / The little...»