We drink life's cup with thirsty lips,
Our eyes shut fast to fears;
About the golden rim there drips
Our staining blood, our tears.
But when the last swift hour comes on,
The light long hid is lit,
From startled eyes the band is gone,
We suffer and submit.
It is not our part to possess
The cup that golden gleamed.
We see its shallow emptiness:
We did not drink — we dreamed.
Мы пьём из чаши бытия
С закрытыми очами,
Златые омочив края
Своими же слезами.
Когда же перед смертью с глаз
Завязка упадает,
И всё, что обольщало нас,
С завязкой исчезает —
Тогда мы видим, что пуста
Была златая чаша,
Что в ней напиток был — мечта,
И что она — не наша!
«No, tsarevich, it’s not I — / That you’re fancying in bliss, / Know, my lips just prophesy, / And no longer kiss. And it’s not because I’m tortured / Or by delirium swayed / That I conjure up misfortune: / It is just my trade. I can teach you this, as well, — / To achieve...»
« Out of your memory, I will remove this day, / So that your helpless gaze can question in a drowse: / Where I did see the Persian lilac sway, / The little swallows, and the wooden house? Hearing my name, you’re going to recall / Unnamed desires’ anguish in a snap, / And in despondent...»
«He didn’t glorify or scold me / Like enemies might or friends. / He left his soul for me and told me: / Keep it safe in your hands. I’m concerned with one thing only: / What to do if he should die, — / An angel will take him from me / And return his soul to the sky. How will I co...»
«My shadow remained and it pines there, listless, / In that light and blue room, it has settled down, / Past midnight it waits for the guests from town, / And the enameled icon, every night, it kisses. / And in this house, not everything is pleasant: / They’ll light a fire, but darkness s...»