The dull air is moist and resounding;
In the forest it is good and no danger.
Once again I will bear obediently
My light cross of solitary walks.
And once again a reproach to my heartless fatherland
Will fly up like a wild duck,
It is a gloomy life I take part in
Where every single one is alone!
A shot has rung out. Now over the drowsy lake
The ducks' wings are heavy.
And the pine trunks are stupefied
By their double, reflected existence.
The sky, dull with a strange shine...
A worldwide, misty pain...
Oh, let me also be misty in this way,
And let me not to love you.
Воздух пасмурный влажен и гулок;
Хорошо и не страшно в лесу.
Легкий крест одиноких прогулок
Я покорно опять понесу.
И опять к равнодушной отчизне
Дикой уткой взовьется упрек, —
Я участвую в сумрачной жизни,
Где один к одному одинок!
Выстрел грянул. Над озером сонным
Крылья уток теперь тяжелы.
И двойным бытием отраженным
Одурманены сосен стволы.
Небо тусклое с отсветом странным —
Мировая туманная боль —
О, позволь мне быть также туманным
И тебя не любить мне позволь.
«Who knows what such fame is like! / At what price did he buy the right, / The possibility or the paradise / To joke about it all so wisely and cunningly, / To be mysteriously silent, / And to call a foot a “footsie”?»
«I do not deserve this praise, rather, / And Sappho doesn’t matter in that, / I know the reason another, / But nothing of it can be read. / Let somebody save self by running, / And others — by nods from their "bliss". / These poems were all underlying / With text, that’s like look...»
«The twenty first. Monday. Night. / The outline of the capital in mist. / It had to be some idler who contrived / The happy fantasy that love exists. And from laziness or acclimation, / All believed him, and moved along: / Awaiting dates, and dreading separations, / And venerating love i...»
«I'm careless of the ode’s exalted sentence / And of the elegy’s delicious guile. / I say the verse should ill befit the senses, / Escape the common file. If you could know what gibberish empowers / The verse that grows, from all abashment freed, / Like dandelions’ yellow summer fl...»