Polite with life of hard modernity:
Between us two, there is a border,
As all, that makes life's proud grins guaranteed
Is my sole bliss, a cure from boredom.
My triumph, glory, deeds, so wonderful —
Lost talk, today by fate embezzled,
Ring through my soul, like copper thunderbolts,
Like words of God heard in a desert.
Unwelcome always in my lively home,
Calm days kept coming, like an illness:
I swore to be an arrow, being thrown,
By hands of Nimrod or Achilles.
But no, I'm not a star of tragedies!
An iron idol, frowning finely:
Dry irony has been my strategy
Among cheap toys, made out of china.
Recalling heads, hair curled and elegant,
At idol's feet, that bowed humbly,
Priests' pagan prayers, nice and eloquent,
And thunderstorms in forests, tumbling,
And then he sees, while laughing grievously:
A herdsman plays his reed, so restless.
On swings that will not move, mischievously,
There sits a lady, fine-breasted.
Я вежлив с жизнью современною,
Но между нами есть преграда,
Все, что смешит ее, надменную,
Моя единая отрада.
Победа, слава, подвиг — бледные
Слова, затерянные ныне,
Гремят в душе, как громы медные,
Как голос Господа в пустыне.
Всегда ненужно и непрошено
В мой дом спокойствие входило:
Я клялся быть стрелою, брошенной
Рукой Немврода иль Ахилла.
Но нет, я не герой трагический,
Я ироничнее и суше,
Я злюсь, как идол металлический
Среди фарфоровых игрушек.
Он помнит головы курчавые,
Склоненные к его подножью,
Жрецов молитвы величавые,
Грозу в лесах, объятых дрожью.
И видит, горестно-смеющийся,
Всегда недвижные качели,
Где даме с грудью выдающейся
Пастух играет на свирели.
«So clearly I remember seeing / before my eyes your features dear, / Like some angelic, heav'nly being, / Of charm and beauty without peer. In throes of sadness without measure, / When woes and tribulations rise, / I hear your voice my dearest treasure, / I dream of your endearing eyes. ...»
«That kiss you gave me, soft and light, / Pursues me in my fancy still. / Through noisy day, through quiet night / I feel your touch, I feel its thrill! I fall asleep, my eyes I close / And dream of you, and dream of bliss. / Deceptive joy! — the sweet dream goes. / To leave but love a...»
«Tempt me not now; it is not wanted. / Show me no more your gentle ways. / But know that I am disenchanted / And shun the lure of former days. I trust no promises from you, / My trust in love itself now falters. / The vision that I cherished alters; / I shall not yield to it anew. With ...»
«She sat and sorted letters on the floor / Glancing through this mass of letters. / And like cold ashes glowing no more / Took them up and threw away. At the pages which she knew by heart / She stared with no detachment, / As might the spirits gaze from above / On the bodies they have ab...»