Storms circle round the village,
And through anguished rain,
Flashes of lightning shatter
The sky once again.
It pours as from a flask,
And above assembled birches
A feast of electricity and rain
In fury and chaos merges.
But we walk along the road
Among the bushes and the grass,
With tridents, like Greek gods,
Held skyward in our grasp.
Вокруг села бродили грозы,
И часто, полные тоски,
Удары молнии сквозь слезы
Ломали небо на куски.
Хлестало, словно из баклаги,
И над собранием берез
Пир электричества и влаги
Сливался в яростный хаос.
А мы шагали по дороге
Среди кустарников и трав,
Как древнегреческие боги,
Трезубцы в облако подняв.
«On a hay rick in lands of South, / I lay, while facing skies of night, / The choir of stars, alive and couth, / Was trembling, spread at every side. The earth, mute as a dream half-hidden, / Was fast receding into space, / And I, as if the first in Eden, / Alone met the black night...»
«To sighs of morning air, that froze, — / (With her lips opened for a say), / How curiously has smiled the rose / On a September fleeting day! And how has she ever dared / To greet, with air of springy queens, / The single blue-tit, in the bare / Shrubs fleshing in the orb of wings; ...»
«A whispering, timid breathing, / A nightingale’s warbling, / The silver and the flux / Of a drowsy stream, / / Night light, night shadows, / Shadows endlessly, / A series of magical changes / Of a dear face, / / The purple of a rose in smoky clouds / A sheen of amber, / A...»
«Bad weather — autumn — smoke. / Smoking — nothing helps. / If only I could read — but my reading / Creeps along so listlessly. / / The grey day crawls on lazily, / And on the wall / The clock ticks unbearably / In its tireless language. / / My heart gradually grows cold...»