From the poplars leaves have flown away,
Inescapability repeated.
Do not cry for leaves in any way,
Cry for love and tenderness frostbitten.
Let the poplars now naked stand.
Do not curse the noisy storms of snow.
Nobody is to blame, my friend,
That off poplars all dead leaves have flown.
Улетели листья с тополей —
Повторилась в мире неизбежность...
Не жалей ты листья, не жалей,
А жалей любовь мою и нежность!
Пусть деревья голые стоят,
Не кляни ты шумные метели!
Разве в этом кто-то виноват,
Что с деревьев листья улетели?
«Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel / With these dear chains, they don't demean; / The nightingale embushed in laurel, / The sylvan singers' feathered queen, / Does she not bear the same sweet plight, / Near the proud rose's beauty dwelling, / And with her tender anthems thrilling / ...»
«I love you, though I rage at it, / Though it is shame and toil misguided, / And to my folly self-derided / Here at your feet I will admit! / It ill befits my years, my station, / Good sense has long been overdue! / And yet, by every indication / Love's plague has stricken me anew: / ...»
«Oh, I love you, I'm mad with rage, / Albeit it's shame and hopeless trouble, / And I confess my foolish ruffles, / I'm sitting near you, like page. / It doesn't suit me, frankly speaking, / It's time I have to be more keen, / I recognize all sings of fleeting / Disease of soul. Love, I...»
«Dreams, dreams, / Where is your sweetness? / Where, O where / The joy of night? / It disappeared / My happy dream, / And now alone / In deep darkness / I am awakened. / A silent night / Surrounds my bed. / Suddenly cold, / Instantly gone, / Lost in a crowd, / My dreams of...»