In multitude of choir polyhymnal
All tender churches sing in their own voice
And the stone vaults of the Dormition cathedral
Like eyebrows in still higher arch rejoice.
And from the rampart fortified by the archangels
I watched the city from a wondrous height
In the Acropolis sadness has deranged me
For Russian name and Russian beauty's sight.
That of the garden we dream it is no wonder,
Where doves do soar upon the hot blue beams
The nun sings Orthodox hymns, Dormition's wonder,
Florence in Moscow so tender seems
And the five-domed Moscow cathedrals
With soul Italian and Russian both
Remind me of Aurora's reappearance
With Russian surname and draped in fur clothes.
В разноголосице девического хора
Все церкви нежные поют на голос свой,
И в дугах каменных Успенского собора
Мне брови чудятся, высокие, дугой.
И с укрепленного архангелами вала
Я город озирал на чудной высоте.
В стенах Акрополя печаль меня снедала
По русском имени и русской красоте.
Не диво ль дивное, что вертоград нам снится,
Где голуби в горячей синеве,
Что православные крюки поет черница:
Успенье нежное -- Флоренция в Москве.
И пятиглавые московские соборы
С их итальянскою и русскою душой
Напоминают мне явление Авроры,
Но с русским именем и в шубке меховой.
«Why is this century worse than those others? / Maybe, because, in sadness and alarm, / It only touched the blackest of the ulcers, / But couldn't heal it in its span of time. Else, in the West, the earthly sun endows / The roofs of cities with the morning light, / But, here, the White alr...»
«You'll live, but I'll not; perhaps, / The final turn is that. / Oh, how strongly grabs us / The secret plot of fate. They differently shot us: / Each creature has its lot, / Each has its order, robust, — / A wolf is always shot. In freedom, wolves are grown, / But deal with them is...»
«You, who first stood before the source / With your smile, so deadly stoned! / How tortures us a look, you own, — / The heavy look of the night-birds. / But awful years will soon pass, / You’ll be again and young and careless, / And we’ll preserve the cold, mysterious, / Of minute...»
«And now, loading the camel's hump / With worldly troubles, heavy as a rock, / We leave — the camel's humble and plump — / To finish the 'unfinishable' work: In herds of camels — to enjoy a pool, / In Hell of sands — to see Blue Nile in thoughts, / As camel's lord and Lord insta...»