Am I dreaming, or really and truly
It was I, who in bed so unruly,
Laughed so loud for the first time one night
Not aware I was only a mite?
The days were too brief in duration,
And the longest seemed always too short —
My plans would be doomed to frustration,
Games unfinished and fights left unfought.
And I still go to bed under pressure,
In the calm of the night find no pleasure.
And in sleep I still see my worst foe
Just as three score and ten years ago.
Неужели я тот же самый,
Что, в постель не ложась упрямо,
Слышал первый свой громкий смех
И не знал, что я меньше всех.
И всегда-то мне дня было мало,
Даже в самые долгие дни,
Для всего, что меня занимало, —
Дружбы, драки, игры, беготни.
Да и нынче борюсь я с дремотой,
И ложусь до сих пор с неохотой,
И покою ночному не рад,
Как две трети столетья назад.
«I love God’s wrath, this Evil! / Invisible, mysterious, poured through everything: / in the flowers, in the glass-clear stream, / in the rainbow-rays, in the very sky of Rome. / The same high, cloudless sky, / your breast's same sweet breath, / the same warm wind rustling tree-to...»
«We'll depart this world for ever, surely, / To repose in peace and quite. Oh, my Lord! / Maybe, I shall also have to duly / Pack my things preparing for the road. / / Oh, my birch-tree woods! Amazing pictures! / Oh, my dear land! My sandy plains! / In the face of crowds of mortal crea...»
«how many times encircled by / a motley crowd / in front of me / as in a dream cacophonies of dance / & music / speeches learned by heart / in phatic whispers mixing with shapes of people / absent a mind or soul / grimacing masks / yet so fastidious much as they touch / my cold...»
«The eyes beg helplessly and dearly / For mercy. Can I ease their pain / As someone is uttering near me / His short and resounding name? I cross the field along the trail, / Where silver timber logs are piled. / Down here, the gentle gusts prevail / As in the springtime, fresh and wild. ...»