Among the priests a young Levite
As morning sentinel for long remained
Judean night grew denser over him,
A ruined temple stood in bitter pain.
He spoke: The yellow of the sky is menace
Run, Jews, over Euphrates it is night.
And old men thought: We should not take the blame here.
This joy of Judea, this black and yellow light.
He was with us, as on the riveshore
We draped the Saturday in precious linen
And with a heavy menorah he lit
Jerusalem's night and vapour of nonbeing.
А .B. Карташеву
Среди священников левитом молодым
На страже утренней он долго оставался.
Ночь иудейская сгущалася над ним
И храм разрушенный угрюмо созидался.
Он говорил: небес тревожна желтизна.
Уж над Ефратом ночь, бегите, иереи!
А старцы думали: не наша в том вина;
Се черножелтый свет, се радость иудеи.
Он с нами был,когда по берегу ручья
Мы в драгоценный лен субботу пеленали
И семисвечником тяжелым освещали
Ерусалима ночь и чад небытия.
«Here the trace of enigma's strange fingernail shows. / "It is late. Let me sleep, and at dawn I’ll reread / And then all will be clear. Till they wake me, there’s none / Who can move the beloved as I move her, indeed!” How I moved you! You bent to the brass of my lips / As an audience...»
«I’ve come from the street. Spring, where the poplar stands / Amazed, where distance quails, and the house fears it will fall, / Where the air is blue, like the bundle of wash in the hands / Of the convalescent leaving the hospital; Where evening is empty: a tale begun by a star / And inte...»
«You pictures flying slantwise in a shower / From the highway that blew the candle out, / I can’t teach you to keep from rhyme and measure, / Deserting hooks and walls in your skew rout. Suppose the universe goes masked? Or even / That every latitude breeds some of those / Who are on han...»
«Nightlong the water labored breathlessly. / Till morning came, the rain burned linseed oil. / Now vapor from beneath the lilac lid / Pours forth: earth steams like shchee that's near the boil. And when the grass, shaking itself, leaps up. / Oh, who will tell the dew how scared I am — / ...»