As the first signs of winter
Hover above the Neva's expanse,
We compare the scattered leaves
Along its banks to summer's radiance.
But I admire these old poplars
Whose branches refuse to shed
Their dry and rusty armor
Till winter's first storms ahead.
How to describe our similarity?
Like the poplar I'm growing old,
And I too should meet, in my armor,
Winter's coming, its mortal cold.
При первом наступлении зимы,
Блуждая над просторною Невою,
Сиянье лета сравниваем мы
С разбросанной по берегу листвою.
Но я любитель старых тополей,
Которые до первой зимней вьюги
Пытаются не сбрасывать с ветвей
Своей сухой заржавленной кольчуги.
Как между нами сходство описать?
И я, подобно тополю, не молод,
И мне бы нужно в панцире встречать
Приход зимы, ее смертельный холод.
«The wind gets stronger, night turns black. / The sea is seething with fierce rage, / Foam splashes on the granite stage — / It surges high then rushes back. / / The surf gets more rambunctious and / Its sparkling effervescent wave's / So heavy and so dense in rave / As if cast iro...»
«When my daydreams cross the brink of long-lost days / To find you there again, within the mist of memory, / I weep sweet tears, like the first Hebrew who gazed / Upon the promised land beyond the boundary. I don't regret the childish games or quiet dreams / Stirred up so painfully and sweet...»
«Sheltered by a crimson awning, / All alone, his slaves dismissed, / A lord is bidding farewell fondly / To a black-browed odalisque. "Sarah, houri of the prophet, / My sunshine, comfort, strength, delight, / Sarah, morning's not far off now — / Azrael will soon alight. "After battle ...»
«Ave Maria — the lamp is quiet, / Four lines in my heart are ready all right: Blessed Holy Virgin, mother of grief, / Your grace penetrated my soul, I perceive. / Not in a blaze, — in a quiet dream / Appear before her, Heaveny Queen, Ave Maria — the lamp is quiet, / I said all t...»