The capitals are rocked with thunder
Of orators in wordy feuds.
But in the depths of Russia, yonder,
An age-old awful silence broods.
Only the wind in wayside willows,
Coming and going, does not cease;
And corn-stalks touch in curving billows
The earth that cherishes and pillows,
Through endless fields of changeless peace.
В столицах шум, гремят витии,
Кипит словесная война,
А там, во глубине России, –
Там вековая тишина.
Лишь ветер не дает покою
Вершинам придорожных ив,
И выгибаются дугою,
Целуясь с матерью землею,
Колосья бесконечных нив...
«We have gone mad from endless jubilation / Wine in the morning, hangover at night. / Your blush, oh drunken plague without respite, / How to contain the needless celebration? Hand-shaking ceremonial and tortuous / And kisses on the street all through the night / When river's waves grow he...»
«Fever rustles and lisps / Grasshopper hours are churning, / And dry stove crackles — This / Means that red silk is burning. Why do mice whet with their molars / Thinning bottom of life spent — / There a swallow for her daughter / Has my shuttle's thread unbent. On the roof the rain...»
«My dry and dreary life / Fire has burned down / Not a stone but tree / I am singing now. It is light and rough; / From a single piece / Come the fisher's oars / And the oak pith. Nail the pilings tighter, / Knock, hammers, with all might, / About the wooden heaven / Where everyth...»
«Of hunchbacked Tiflis I am dreaming / Sazandar coils and moans / On bridge with people teeming / Capital carpet-gleaming / As Kura runs below. Restaurant from Caucasus / Where pilaf and wine abound, / A blushing waitress in her youth / Is now ready to serve you / Having served the t...»