White sail out in the bay
billowing in the wind.
Why sail so far away?
Why leave so much behind?
Winds must play on the seas
and masts creak in the wind.
Fortune is not what he seeks,
nor what he's left behind.
A golden light still pours
down onto deep blue seas;
this rebel, alas, seeks storms,
as if in storms lies peace.
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!
«My unglorious day is waning, / Finally the end has come… / Oh, my ash-tree ice! My verses, / Light-transparent frigid ones! I do not intend to leave my / Useless goods to anyone. / I shine up the crystal and the / Silver for myself alone. And my icon lamp is burning, / Getting rosy...»
«And truly, one cannot predict / Who in the world will be one’s reader: / A ball can’t know what it will hit / Once it’s shot into the distance. Well, then, my life-creating verse, / Whom I breathe and in whom I live, / Fly off into darkness, into the void, / Or simply, into the se...»
«People cut a hole through / The dark-blue thickness of ice: / An air vent for big fish and little, / Water for water hoistings, / A way out for a weary woman / If in the end life turned out / Not to be traveling her road, / If she had nowhere to go!»
«Chase poems of the night away, / No need for preemies of the spirit: / Since night assists you at their birth, / And night is an atrocious midwife. You madman! If you really do / Aspire to exalted singing, / Outstubborn, try to overcome / Your momentary excitation. Know this: the chatt...»