What utter happiness is it to be forsaken!
What heaven's light can one see in the past! —
Like when cold winter after summer breaks in,
We dream of sun that long ago left us.
A dried flower, a bundle of lover’s letters,
Few happy dates, a light of smiling eyes, —
And tho’ your path be now dark and helpless,
But in last spring you’ve trodden the fresh grass.
There is another kind of the love passions’ lore
Another path, deserted one and great,
«To be forsaken» — what could be wished more?
To be unloved — that is the awful fate!
О, быть покинутым — какое счастье!
Какой безмерный в прошлом виден свет
Так после лета — зимнее ненастье:
Все помнишь солнце, хоть его уж нет.
Сухой цветок, любовных писем связка,
Улыбка глаз, счастливых встречи две, —
Пускай теперь в пути темно и вязко,
Но ты весной бродил по мураве.
Ах, есть другой урок для сладострастья,
Иной есть путь — пустынен и широк.
О, быть покинутым — такое счастье!
Быть нелюбимым — вот горчайший рок.
«Dying, I’ll not say: "I was". / No regrets, I’ll not cast blame. / There are greater things in this world / Than love’s storm, and passion’s game. But you — wing-beat against my chest, / Fresh, guilty cause of my inspiration — / You I command to: — Be! / My obedience – »
«I’m no impostor — I’m home. / I’m no servant — I brought no leaven. / I’m — your passion, your Sunday rest, / Your seventh day, your seventh heaven. They hung millstones round my neck, / On earth, they flung me a penny. / — Lover! — Surely you know? / I am your swa»
«To kiss the brow — eases all anxiety. / I kiss the brow. To kiss the eyes — cures insomnia’s misery. / I kiss the eyes. To kiss the lips — one’s no longer thirsty. / I kiss the lips. To kiss the brow — erases memory. / I kiss the brow.»
«After a night of insomnia, the body slows: / Dear, but not his, not anyone’s — to have. / In sluggish veins the moan of arrows, / You smile at everyone, like a seraph. After a night of insomnia, arms hang low, / You’re indifferent to friend or enemy, / In every random sound there’...»