The gold stars are sleeping,
The mirror-pond trembles,
The dawn light comes creeping
And heaven's net reddens.
The birch-tree smites sleepily,
Her silk locks free-flowing,
Green earrings are rustling.
And silver dew glowing.
Tall nettles by the fencing
Their bright pearls are flaunting
And whispering merrily:
"Good morning!"
Задремали звёзды золотые,
Задрожало зеркало затона,
Брезжит свет на заводи речные
И румянит сетку небосклона.
Улыбнулись сонные берёзки,
Растрепали шёлковые косы.
Шелестят зелёные серёжки,
И горят серебряные росы.
У плетня заросшая крапива
Обрядилась ярким перламутром
И, качаясь, шепчет шаловливо:
«С добрым утром!»
«to Akhmatova You shut out my sun in the sky, / The stars are all in your palm! / Ah, if only, the door slamming wide, / Like a wind could I in come! / / And babble, and hotly blush, / And down the shy eyes cast, / And a half-sob hush — / Like a child — forgiven at last.»
«The bread’s poisoned and the air’s drunk up. / How hard it is to treat wounds; / Joseph sold into Egypt / couldn’t have suffered more! Under a starry sky, Bedouins, / eyes closed and on horseback, / shape private epics / about the day they’ve lived through. They don’t need in...»
«Name of yours sounds — bird-in-hand clung, / Name of yours sounds — icily on tongue. / On single-smackingly implosive lips / Name of yours sounds — five caps. / Ball that’s catapulted and caught, / A silveringly bell-clapped retort. Thrown, a stone into tranquil pond — / Sob...»
«Your name is a bird on my palm. / Your name is ice on my tongue. / Your name is a stone in a swamp. / It is a bullet, and a cramp. Your name is an invisible moment / of my lips, / A kiss in the eyes, / My breath in your hold. / Sometimes — a reasonable advise. / Sometimes — sno...»