I'll say this in a whisper, in draft,
because it's early yet:
we have to pay
with experience and sweat
to learn the sky's free play.
And under purgatory's temporal sky
we easily forget:
the dome of heaven
is a home
to praise forever, wherever.
Я скажу это начерно, шопотом
Потому что еще не пора:
Достигается потом и опытом
Безотчетного неба игра.
И под временным небом чистилища
Забываем мы часто о том,
Что счастливое небохранилище —
Раздвижной и прижизненный дом.
«To L. I. Kashina Head of green tresses / And maiden breast, / Why on the pond, birch, / Your gaze do you rest? / What does the wind whisper, / Sand intone? / In your braid-boughs will you / Set a moon-comb? / Your secret wood-thoughts / Disclose to me! / I love your sad tones / ...»
«...and a decrepit bunch of trees. / Pushkin Yet I matured in peace checked by command, / In the nursery of the infant century, / And the voice of man was never dear to me, / But the breeze's voice — that I could understand. / The burdock and the nettle I esteemed, / But the silver wi...»
«Just wait for me and I'll return. / But wait, oh, wait with all your might... / Wait when your heart is saddened by / The pouring rains, the sallow light. / Wait when the wind heaps up the snow, / Wait when the air is dry and hot. / Wait when the rest no longer wait / For those whom th...»
«Black bread and a faithful wife / Have made us anemic, undone us for life... Our years have been tested by hoof and by stone, / The waters we drink of with wormwood are strewn, / The taste of the wormwood is stinging our lips... / The knife does not fit the grip of our fists, / The pen do...»