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.
«Over the Georgian hills the night her mantle throws; / Softly the river sings to me. / And gently too my sorrow wraps me, but it glows / Always, for it is full of thee. / Of thee, only of thee. . . . O my sorrow’s a veil / That guards me from the world’s loud voice. /...»
«At Eden’s gateway, downward spying, / A gentle-hearted Angel shone; / A dark rebellious Demon flying / Passed over Hell’s abyss and on. The Spirit of doubt and of rejection / Beheld that Spirit clean and true; / And warmth unwilling of affection / Then first, uneasily, he knew. “...»
«O’er the world’s plain that stretches vastly, sadly, / Three hidden springs mysteriously flow; / The fount of youth — a spring that surges madly, / Whose waters murmuring and sparkling go; / Castalia’s fount whose wave of inspiration / Sings where the exiles o’er the desert press...»
«When trade and traffic and all the noise of town / Is dimmed, and on the streets and squares / The filmy curtain of the night sinks down / With sleep, the recompense of cares, / To me the darkness brings nor sleep nor rest. / A pageant of the torturing hours / Drags i...»