For the rattling valour of future centuries,
For the highborn tribe of people,
I am deprived of the cups on the pyres of my fathers,
Of their pleasures, of their marks of esteem.
Like a wolfhound the century leaps on my shoulders,
But my skin is not the skin of a wolf.
Stuff me rather like a cap into the sleeve
Of a yellow sheepskin coat from Siberian steppes —
So that I see neither cowards, nor shallow dirt,
Nor the bloody bones on the wheel,
So that the blue foxes in their primitive beauty
All night long may shine at me.
Carry me off into the night where the Yenisei flows,
Where a pine tree reaches up to a star,
For my skin is not the skin of a wolf
And my mouth is not twisted with falsehood.
За гремучую доблесть грядущих веков,
За высокое племя людей, —
Я лишился и чаши на пире отцов,
И веселья, и чести своей.
Мне на плечи кидается век-волкодав,
Но не волк я по крови своей:
Запихай меня лучше, как шапку, в рукав
Жаркой шубы сибирских степей...
Чтоб не видеть ни труса, ни хлипкой грязцы,
Ни кровавых костей в колесе;
Чтоб сияли всю ночь голубые песцы
Мне в своей первобытной красе.
Уведи меня в ночь, где течет Енисей
И сосна до звезды достает,
Потому что не волк я по крови своей
И меня только равный убьет.
«The visions of Pavlovsk abound, / Lifeless water and meadows that spread / Through its shady and languishing grounds, / Which I’m certain to never forget. Past the cast-iron gates opened wide, / With a blissful shiver caressed, / One’s not living, — one raves in delight, / Or if l...»
«In drowsiness, once more astounded, / Our starry heaven I behold — / The city of the purest fountains, / Bakhchisarai of shinning gold. There, past the fence, and down below, / Along the water, we recalled / The fields of Tsarskoye Selo, / As we sat, blissfully enthralled, There we d...»
«The immortelle is dry and rosy. Overhead, / The clouds seem misshapen in the sky. / The leafage of the only oak nearby / Is colorless and thin still as of yet. The midnight hour’s lit with sunset’s embers. / How great I feel inside my narrow cell! / Today, the birds converse with me a...»
«I concealed all my worry inside me, / And gazed casually, calm and composed. / She sat down, like a porcelain idol, / In a long predetermined pose. It’s my daily routine to be merry / But attentiveness takes all my might… / Or did indolence now overwhelm me / After so many scented M...»