I have seen in a dream a juniper brush,
I have heard a distant metallical crush,
A ringing of amethyst berries I caught,
And quietly sleeping, I liked it a lot.
I sensed through the dream the sap in the air.
Looking in through the branches I was aware,
In the gloom of the wood, the arboreal shroud,
A hint of your smile could be made out.
Juniper bush, O juniper bush,
Treacherous lips that murmur and hush,
Delicate chatter whiffing of sap,
Piercing me with a death-dealing stab!
Golden skies on the other side of the glass
See the floating clouds coming to pass,
My garden is barren and nothing is lush...
May heaven forgive you, juniper bush!
Я увидел во сне можжевеловый куст,
Я услышал вдали металлический хруст,
Аметистовых ягод услышал я звон,
И во сне, в тишине, мне понравился он.
Я почуял сквозь сон лёгкий запах смолы.
Отогнув невысокие эти стволы,
Я заметил во мраке древесных ветвей
Чуть живое подобье улыбки твоей.
Можжевеловый куст, можжевеловый куст,
Остывающий лепет изменчивых уст,
Лёгкий лепет, едва отдающий смолой,
Проколовший меня смертоносной иглой!
В золотых небесах за окошком моим
Облака проплывают одно за другим,
Облетевший мой садик безжизнен и пуст…
Да простит тебя Бог, можжевеловый куст!
«At evening times above the restaurants / The sultry air’s harsh and stale. / The spirit of the spring-time pestilence / Reigns over drunken muffled wails. And further up in dusty alley ways, / Beyond the summer cottage sloth, / A baker’s shop sign glistens gaudily, / And chi...»
«A night, a street, a lamp, a drugstore, / A meaningless and dismal light. / A quarter century outpours — / It’s all the same. No chance of flight. You’d die and rise anew, begotten. / All would repeat as ever might: / The street, the icy rippled water, / The store, the lamp, the ...»
«How can You view the Neva like that, / How dare You scale the bridges just so? / People think I’m remarkably sad / Since your vision could not let me go. / Razor sharp wings of black angels flew, / Judgement Day is approaching soon, / And bonfires of raspberry hue, / In the snow like...»
«On his hand you may see many glittering rings, / Those are tender girls’ hearts, rightful trophies of flings. There a diamond exults and an opal daydreams, / And a beautiful ruby emits crimson whims. But on his pallid hand my gemstone will not shine, / None shall ever be granted this jewel...»