When day's light fades far away
And in darkness descends on huts,
The whole sky glitters overhead,
A colossal atom in motion sways.
And often by this dream I'm in torment,
That in another corner of the universe,
The same garden, darkness and stars
Exist, their beauty forever unspent.
And perhaps some other poet seems
To stand anguished in this garden,
Asking why, in my fading years,
I torment him with dark dreams.
Когда вдали угаснет свет дневной
И в черной мгле, склоняющейся к хатам,
Все небо заиграет надо мной,
Как колоссальный движущийся атом, —
В который раз томит меня мечта,
Что где-то там, в другом углу вселенной,
Такой же сад, и та же темнота,
И те же звезды в красоте нетленной.
И может быть, какой-нибудь поэт
Стоит в саду и думает с тоскою,
Зачем его я на исходе лет
Своей мечтой туманной беспокою.
«I Smell of burning. The marshes are singeing / For four weeks, with the peat bog dried up. / And today, even birds have quit singing / And the aspen that shivered has stopped. God, Himself, sees the sun with dismay, / And since Easter, the drought has spread. / And a one-legged stranger ...»
«That voice, with silence disputing, / Has triumphed a little bit more. / Like sorrow or song in me brooding / Is the winter before the war. It was whiter than Smolny Cathedral, / More mysterious than Summer Garden. / Now, we look back at it, so ethereal, / With ultimate longing, downtro...»
«We never quite learned to part, — / We wander slowly, side by side. / Outside, it’s starting to get dark, / I’m silent, — you’re preoccupied. We’ll enter a church and see / Baptisms, marriages, mass. / A minute later, we’ll leave… / Why is everything different with us? ...»
«There the Archangel Michael / Has enrolled him in his host. / N. Gumilev. You won’t hear from him any longer, / No more letters to save. / In the fire-embraced, doleful Poland, / You won’t find his grave. Let your soul grow calm and composed, / No more loss in this war: / He’s ...»