Goldfinch, friend, I'll cock my head —
let's check the world out, just me and you:
this winter's day pricks like chaff;
does it sting your eyes too?
Boat-tailed, feathers yellow-black,
sopped in colour beneath your beak,
do you get, you goldfinch you,
just how you flaunt it?
What's he thinking, little airhead? —
white and yellow, black and red!
Both eyes check both ways — both! —
will check no more — he's bolted!
Мой щегол, я голову закину —
Поглядим на мир вдвоем:
Зимний день, колючий, как мякина,
Так ли жестк в зрачке твоем?
Хвостик лодкой, перья черно-желты,
Ниже клюва в краску влит,
Сознаёшь ли — до чего щегол ты,
До чего ты щегловит?
Что за воздух у него в надлобье —
Чёрн и красен, жёлт и бел!
В обе стороны он в оба смотрит — в обе! —
Не посмотрит — улетел!
«Evening hours at the desk, / The page irremediably white, / The mimosa’s scent is of Nice, warmth, / Over the moon some vast bird flies. And, twining my braids for night, / As if I must wear them tomorrow, / I look from the window at sand-dunes, sea, / Free of sorrow. How much power ...»
«Irreparably white the page. Long hours / Spent vainly at a desk. Of warmth and Nice / Smell the mimosa's tiny, yellow flowers. / Caught by the moon's white ray, a large bird flies. It's bedtime, and my long hair plaiting tightly — / As though it mattered!- out the window I, / No longer ...»
«My heart beats smoothly, steadily, / What are long years to me? / Under the Galernaya arch, / Our shadows, for eternity. Through half-closed eyelids, / I see, I see that you’re with me, / And forever held in your hand / Is my unopened fan. Because we stood together, / In that bless...»
«As a silver, delicate strand / Is woven in my dark tresses — / Only you, silent nightingale, / Can understand this torment. Your sensitive ear hears distance, / In the willow’s thin branches, / Ruffled, you gaze — without breathing — / If a strange song sounds. But a moment ag...»