I have forgotten what is in my hands:
A heart, a hat, or a cane?
In the gardens of the Lord
Grape bunches ripen.
Ahead the cry: "don't,"
Behind: "return."
All that is quiet is the path
Leading upwards.
Shouldn't I follow it?
Maybe, if no sin is committed,
On the azure path
The soul will become a bird.
Позабыл, что в руках:
Сердце, шляпа иль трость?..
Зреет в Отчих садах
Виноградная гроздь.
Впереди крик: «нельзя»,
Позади: «воротись».
И тиха лишь стезя,
Уходящая ввысь.
Не по ней ли идти?
Может быть, не греша,
На лазурном пути
Станет птицей душа.
«My friend, you'll understand, of course! / Now at this hour of dejection / Like magic, firmly, desperation / Dismays me filling with remorse... / / Why is there so much depression / And pain in my contracted chest? / I don't need lights, and I confess / I'm tired of any congregat...»
«A cheerful bride, she was happy and gay, / But there came death, and she passed away. / / Her mother berried her close nearby / The church came down on the pond, half dry. / / And over the waves of the deepest place / A cross is floating at an even pace. / / Days, years and ...»
«to Chulkov Don't build a house by a drowned current / Where life is bustling under a strain; / Believe me, the end is always recurrent, / It's incomprehensible, solemn and plain. / / Like a bedtime story your fate is quiet; / Lonely heart, you had better give in and be blessed. / Go ...»
«I knew her as far back / as those unbelievable years. / Tutchev With years you haven't changed, my fair: / You're charming, strict, as clear as day; / The only change is in your hair, / It"s sleek and with a flash of grey. / / Well, as for me, I'm sitting here, / Over my book...»