Their souls' love near the sea was born
In sacred groves of virgin devotees,
Where the play of strings and agile breeze
Competes with joyful songs from dusk till dawn.
The Priest... Unlikely human shape
Could be that weird handsome...
His lips were shut; his look was awesome;
And on his head — a scarf of bloody shade.
When hazes came upon the sea,
The Priest started sacred rite.
And dancing virgins, pliable and bright
Shined on the shore as necklace pearly.
The one of them, more beautiful than fairy,
The Priest distinguished more...
Oh, he forgot that elegance may draw,
That bloody scarf can make you so hungry.
Before the dawn, beneeth the blinking stars
The Priest forgot his vow.
Her honey lips did not say «no».
Her eyes rejected not his love.
Banished by others, they were gone
From shadows of sacred groves.
The strength abandoned their souls,
Since then they live with love alone.
Любовь их душ родилась возле моря,
В священных рощах девственных наяд,
Чьи песни вечно-радостно звучат,
С напевом струн, с игрою ветра споря.
Великий жрец… страннее и суровей
Едва ль была людская красота,
Спокойный взгляд, сомкнутые уста
И на кудрях повязка цвета крови.
Когда вставал туман над водной степью,
Великий жрец творил святой обряд,
И танцы гибких, трепетных наяд
По берегу вились жемчужной цепью.
Средь них одной, пленительней, чем сказка,
Великий жрец оказывал почет.
Он позабыл, что красота влечет,
Что опьяняет красная повязка.
И звезды предрассветные мерцали,
Когда забыл великий жрец обет,
Ее уста не говорили «нет»,
Ее глаза ему не отказали.
И, преданы клеймящему злословью,
Они ушли из тьмы священных рощ
Туда, где их сердец исчезла мощь,
Где их сердца живут одной любовью.
«Blizzard with a darkness covers / All the sky and wheels in whirls, / As a beast it hardly groans, / As a baby – cries in turn, / Or is rustling with a thatch old / On the roof without mind, / Or is knocking door and window / As a traveller, late to come. Our decrepit hut old / Is...»
«Blizzard covers skies with dark mist / swirling snowy whirlwinds; / either howls like a wild beast / or reminds the cry of kids; / cracks by rotten thatch with anger / on the old roof in a fuss, / or as a belated stranger / knocks at window to us. This old hut sank into sadness / an...»
«The storm covers skies in darkness, / Spinning snowy whirlwinds tight, / Now it wails like a beast wildest, / Now it cries like a week child, / Now suddenly it rustles / The old roof’s dry thatching mass, / Now, a traveller, late and gusty, / It knocks at our window’s glass. Our h...»
«Three apples. They’re beloved of tradition, / Three symbols of rebellion here on earth, / In ancient garden, knowing new fruition, / They burn beneath dreams’ gusting trembles’ birth. O you, primeval woman’s fatal apple! / You tore the light of Eden from her eyes, / Upon us sheddi...»