Nikolay Gumilev
- The Winged Victory of Samothrace, by Alla Burago and Burton Raffel
(In my night-time fever...)
Nyikolaj Gumiljov (magyar)
- Szamothrakéi Niké, István Baka
(Lázálmaimban forgolódva...)
«How I crave immortality, dying. / Clouds of dust come low from afar... / Let the naked red devils come flying, / With the cauldrons of foul-smelling tar. Playing tricks, crawl up to me, lurking, / Threats from books, all tattered and bent, / Only leave me my memory working / Just my mem...»
«He absolved me of sin and he quieted down. / The violet dusk blew out the flame. / The dark prayer stole fell spreading around / My shoulders, my head and my frame. Is this not the voice that said: “Maiden! arise…” / The heart beats fast, at a loss, / The touch of the hand as it abs...»
«Books and a pencil case in a strap, as I / Sauntered home, with the school receding. / These lindens, I’m sure, won’t forget the time, / My merry boy, of our very first meeting. / Only now that little cygnet, once gray, / Changed, becoming a haughty swan, / And sorrow descended like ...»
«Ever since St. Agrafena’s day, / He has kept my crimson shawl. / He gloats like King David, enthralled. / His frosty cell has walls of gray, / And no one talks to him at all. I’ll go to his door and stand in his way, / “Return my shawl to me!” I’ll say. »