Once there was an anarchist,
Beard and cheeks he died — so cocky.
Mädchen he’d in Terijoki.
Sadist too — you get the gist.
Round his neck the wrinkles clustered
Forming there a crimson shawl.
Lots he ate, with gloves he flustered —
In a word he did it all.
At a party, scratching itch,
Priest’s son, whipper-idealist
Questioned, bravely: “Petr Petrovich,
Why are you an anarchist?”
Petr Petrovich, eyebrows raising,
Turning crimson as a beet,
Clucked in his staccato phrasing:
“Ignoramus! Fool effete!”
Жил на свете анархист,
Красил бороду и щеки,
Ездил к немке в Териоки
И при этом был садист.
Вдоль затылка жались складки
На багровой полосе.
Ел за двух, носил перчатки —
Словом, делал то, что все.
Раз на вечере попович,
Молодой идеалист,
Обратился: “Петр Петрович,
Отчего вы анархист?”
Петр Петрович поднял брови
И, багровый, как бурак,
Оборвал на полуслове:
“Вы невежа и дурак”.
«Sleep has not touched my eyes / When the first gleam of daylight / Steals through the window-pane... Fighting with dismal night-time thoughts / My troubled mind tosses and turns, / My heart is tormented. My heart is tormented... Peace be with you, / My heart, full of anguish! / Peace ...»
«Midnight phantoms hover / Glittering bright with sparks in the darkness. / But my eyes cannot make out / How many of them, on their ominous wings. Midnight phantoms groan / Like a sick man in exhausted sleep, / They rise to the surface, and groan and sink again –— / But what are the...»
«A golden cloud spent the night / Resting on the breast of the giant crag; / Come the morning, it darted away, / Airily playing in the breeze. But it left behind a patch of moisture / In a crevice of the ancient rock. / Alone it stands, the mighty crag, as deep in thought, / It quietly ...»
«How all the blood in my breast / Flooded into my heart, / When the gaze from your eyes / Fastened itself upon me! For long I could not understand / Its silent language... / I sought its meaning / With fear and anguish... Suddenly all doubts vanished / And my fear forever stilled... /...»