‘I have lost a delicate cameo
By the Neva’s bank, I don’t know where.
I’m grieving for my lovely Roman girl’ —
Almost in tears you came and said to me.
But why, beautiful Georgian,
Disturb the dust of godlike tombs?
Another downy snowflake now
Has melted on your lashes’ fan.
And then you bowed your gentle head:
Alas, the Roman girl, the cameo, has gone.
I grieve for Tinotina —
A Roman girl beside the Neva’s shore.
— Я потеряла нежную камею,
Не знаю где, на берегу Невы.
Я римлянку прелестную жалею,—
Чуть не в слезах мне говорили вы.
Но для чего, прекрасная грузинка,
Тревожить прах божественных гробниц?
Еще одна пушистая снежинка
Растаяла на веере ресниц.
И кроткую вы наклонили шею.
Камеи нет — нет римлянки, увы.
Я Тинотину смуглую жалею —
Девичий Рим на берегу Невы.
«Covered with a glory that had lost it luster, / Ringed by cretins, tricksters, hypocrites, / The two-headed eagle1 did not fall in battle / But died a horrible, degraded death. Grinning, one man said: "He made it!" / Another sobbed: "Lord, forgive..." / But no one guessed it was a stuffe...»
«Spring said nothing to me — it couldn't. / Perhaps it was at a loss for words. / But down the murky length of the station / Lights came fleetingly to life. Only, from the platform someone greeted / Someone in the dark blue night. / Only, on my miserable head / A crown shone faintly.»
«They'll not exterminate you now, / As that mad leader dreamt they might. / Fate or God may lend a hand, / But the Russian man is tired... Tired of suffering, of vainglory — / It's time to enjoy oblivion. / Tired of rushing blindly forward — / It's time, perhaps, for demolition... ....»
«I imagine everything wrapped in a beatific mist: / Statues, arches, gardens, flowerbeds. / The dark waves of the lovely river... Once the memories start to flow, / it means ... But perhaps all this is nonsense. Like a wild beast from its lair, crouching, / Sick, I crawl into the cold of Pa...»