Heaviness, tenderness — sisters — your marks are the same.
The wasps and the honey bees suck at the heavy rose.
Man dies, heat drains from the once warm sand,
and on a black bier they carry off yesterday's sun.
Oh, you tender nets and you heavy honeycombs,
Easier to lift a stone than to speak your name!
Only one care is left to me in the world:
a care that is golden, to shed the burden of time.
I drink the mutinous air like some dark water.
Time is turned up by the plough, and the rose was earth.
Slowly they eddy, the heavy, the tender roses,
roses of heaviness, tenderness, twofold wreath.
Сёстры тяжесть и нежность, одинаковы ваши приметы.
Медуницы и осы тяжелую розу сосут.
Человек умирает. Песок остывает согретый,
И вчерашнее солнце на чёрных носилках несут.
Ах, тяжёлые соты и нежные сети,
Легче камень поднять, чем имя твое повторить!
У меня остается одна забота на свете:
Золотая забота, как времени бремя избыть.
Словно тёмную воду, я пью помутившийся воздух.
Время вспахано плугом, и роза землею была.
В медленном водовороте тяжёлые нежные розы,
Розы тяжесть и нежность в двойные венки заплела!
«Next door the windows are stained yellow. / And all night long, and all night long / The pensive bolts both screech and bellow, / And at the gates the workers throng. And heedless gates are locked remaining, / And on the wall, and on the wall / Unplacid shady figure’s craning / And co...»
«I’m Hamlet, and my blood grows cold / When meshing of deceit is weaving, / And in my heart is first love’s hold / Alive — to one alone it’s cleaving. Ophelia, distant frigid hand / Of life at you is madly grabbing, / And I, the Prince, in native land / Succumb to poisoned épée...»
«I went into the night to know / The distant stir, the nearby chatter, / To give myself to nothing, so / I might believe in dream-hooves’ clatter. The road in pallid moonlight seemed / With footsteps now to be resounding. / There only someone’s shadow streamed / And sank behind the h...»
«Aren’t you the one who lights soul’s fire? / Uncovers all that it has hidden? / And did you not the song inspire / That mad and random comes unbidden? Have faith! I’ll give you back this life / When you unveil another chantry / To poet burdened by his strife, / From dark to light ...»