In dreadful world of grim oppressor
You, midnight burials’ gruesome friend,
In suicide’s strict lofty dresser
The telephone tells of the end.
The asphalt blackened lakes are pitted
As angry horse hooves clatter by,
Comes soon the sun; then soon emitted
Will be the senseless ashen cry.
And oak Valhalla there presided
In deep indulgent restful sleep;
And fate was told, the night decided,
When telephone began to leap.
The heavy curtains’ draft the atmosphere was thinning
The light was draining from the Theatre Square.
A ring – again the spheres are spinning:
Decision’s made to end it there.
So how to flee reverberation,
And how escape its dreaded weight?
Be still, accursed bell’s vibration!
I’m sorry! Seabed’s blooms elate!
Its birdsong voice with all is clashing,
It sends to sleep, its mournful drone.
You are salvation, lightning’s flashing.
It’s suicide – the telephone.
На этом диком страшном свете
Ты, друг полночных похорон,
В высоком строгом кабинете
Самоубийцы — телефон!
Асфальта чёрные озёра
Изрыты яростью копыт,
И скоро будет солнце — скоро
Безумный пе́тел прокричит.
А там дубовая Валга́лла
И старый пиршественный сон:
Судьба велела, ночь решала,
Когда проснулся телефон.
Весь воздух выпили тяжёлые портьеры,
На театральной площади темно.
Звонок — и закружились сферы:
Самоубийство решено.
Куда бежать от жизни гулкой,
От этой каменной уйти?
Молчи, проклятая шкатулка!
На дне морском цветёт: прости!
И только голос, голос-птица
Летит на пиршественный сон.
Ты — избавленье и зарница
Самоубийства — телефон!
«Tramp squares with rebellious treading! / Up heads! As proud peaks be seen! / In the second flood we are spreading / Every city on earth will be clean. Pied days plod. / Slowly the years’ waggons come. / Speed’s our god. / Hearts are beating a drum. What gold is than ours diviner? ...»
«In the breeze, on a bough that is asking / If it’s time for the birds to sing, / Like a sparrow soaked with the showers. / My lilac blossom, you swing. The raindrop’s a heavy button, / And the garden in spate appears. / Bespattered and wet and sprinkled / As with millions of blue te...»
«The lime-trees by the open door / Breathe sweet and rich. / Forgotten on the table / A glove and riding switch. A yellow disk of lamplight, / A rustling near at hand. / (But why did you leave me? / I do not understand.) How beautiful the world is / In the morning cool and clear! / ...»
«I said to the cuckoo: “Till I die / Tell me how many years must pass!” / Pines were waving in the sky. / Yellow light fell on the grass. / Came no answer: all was still / In that leafy place. / As I walked home the wind blew chill / On my burning face.»