Sweetness and tenderness — like sisters alike are your marks —
The wasp and the bee suckle honey then flutter as one —
Life ends, beach sand chills overnight, and the heaven gets dark,
And carried away on black litter is yesterday's sun.
Ah, tender rosebush, delicate emanation!
To know what you are is far harder than mountain to climb!
I have but one problem remaining in this incarnation:
To raise from the shoulders of man filthy burden of time!
I drink turbid air just like water with mildew diluted:
A visage appears in the sun, heart of darkness and clots:
Two roses that once were of earth but by man were polluted
Sweetness and tenderness, bound up in double knots!
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!
«The night, street, chemist shop, & lantern, / The gloomy lighting with no aim. / Live more — some dozens years — the pattern / With no escape will be the same. Death brings new start from the beginning, / The past returns itself: the night, / Canal’s ice ripples with no meaning, / ...»
«Night. City calmed down. / Behind the large window / It is quiet and solemnly, / As if a man dies. But there somebody stands simply sad, / Distracted by failure, / With the open collar, / And looks at the stars. "Stars, stars, / Tell me the reason for this melancholy!" And again loo...»
«All thought of prowess, valiant deeds and fame / Would leave me on this suffering earth when on / Your lovely face I gazed that glowed and shone / Before me in its simple wooden frame. But your fate to another you surrendered, / You left, and I… I flung into the night / The cherished ri...»
«I'll never forget (did it happen, or not, / That evening): the sunset's fire / Consumed and split the pale sky, / And streetlamps flared against the yellow sunset. I sat by the window in a crowded room. / Distant bows were singing of love. / I sent you a black rose in a goblet / Of cham...»