A silver sail, the ocean loner,
Is lurking in the azure mist.
What has she lost in foreign corners?
What in her homeland did she miss?
Her mast is clattering and bending
Midst whistling wind and raging wave.
Alas, she seeks no happy ending,
Nor runs from happiness away.
Beneath – the crystal torrent tempteth,
Above – the golden rays caress,
Yet she, rebellious, longs for tempests
As though a tempest granted rest.
Белеет парус одинокой
В тумане моря голубом!..
Что ищет он в стране далекой?
Что кинул он в краю родном?..
Играют волны — ветер свищет,
И мачта гнется и скрыпит...
Увы! он счастия не ищет,
И не от счастия бежит!
Под ним струя светлей лазури,
Над ним луч солнца золотой...
А он, мятежный, просит бури,
Как будто в бурях есть покой!
«Your stripe will be harvested / By which person's arms? / O the black magician you! / My black-plaited one! Your tumultuous century, / And your midnight days... / All your little workers are / At once born away. Where are your campaigner friends, / Your comrades in arms? / O the b...»
«S E Brothers! In the last hour / Of year — after our / Russian land, living in us! / Exactly twelve times / Mug to mug! After the rabble of honor, / After Taman, after Kuban, / After our Russian Don, / Jordan of old faith... Once more, / Mug to mug! Comrades! / Alive still i...»
«When horses die, they breathe / When grasses die, they wither, / When suns die, they go out, / When people die, they sing songs.»
«I hate the roar of giant cities, neighborhoods, / I am repulsed by crowd commotion, / My spirit lives in depths of woods, / Where in secluded calm devotion / I hark to music of unseen sweet voices' moods, / ...»