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.
«To G. V. Darkness has covered the room an’ / it’s quiet and still as can be. / Good heavens! Your Majesty Woman, / you really want to see me? / / Lighting is muddy in here, / the walls have a leakage trace... / Your Majesty Woman! Oh dear! / How did you get to this place? / ...»
«The eyes of fear are big, / while those of happiness are round, / festivities and injuries cause wrinkles on the face... / They started playing Bach / as the conductor quietly came out, / and everything calmed down, and all was back in place...»
«Now do hear the sound of trampling boots? / And do you see the birds fly off like mad / and women stare scrutinising routes? / I think you know what they are staring at. / / Now do hear the sound of drum-beat bass? / The soldiers have to say their good-byes... / The squadron leaves to...»
«The music of the soul is flat, / the music of attack is loud; / but make no haste about that, / you may be wrong in making out / that music of attack is loud, / and music of the soul is flat. / / The louder is the attack, / the sweeter are the lights around; / and that’s the way...»