I haven't forgotten you, dearie,
The shine of your hair and all.
It wasn't so easy and cheery
To leave you, as I recall.
I haven't forgotten the autumn,
The rustle of birches, the night;
And though the days were shorter
The moonlight was long and bright.
You whispered these words in my ear:
«The years and the dreams will be gone,
You'll go with another, my dear,
And leave me all on my own».
That lime standing there, in flower,
Reminds my emotion anew
The way I would tenderly shower
Those beautiful flowers on you.
My heart will be warm, sad and sorry,
In love, remembering well
You, friend, as a fanciful story
Of love with another girl.
Я помню, любимая, помню
Сиянье твоих волос…
Не радостно и не легко мне
Покинуть тебя привелось.
Я помню осенние ночи,
Березовый шорох теней…
Пусть дни тогда были короче,
Луна нам светила длинней.
Я помню, ты мне говорила:
«Пройдут голубые года,
И ты позабудешь, мой милый,
С другою меня навсегда».
Сегодня цветущая липа
Напомнила чувствам опять,
Как нежно тогда я сыпал
Цветы на кудрявую прядь.
И сердце, остыть не готовясь
И грустно другую любя,
Как будто любимую повесть
С другой вспоминает тебя.
«Good poems torment me much, / Bad ones — are nice without reason: / They can't sting souls, nor they bite, / They have the warmth of home, isn't it? So — that's a real lemonad, of course, / (They're light, as a silk morning gown). / And qeniuse ones takes minute to concern, oh... ...»
«Since that time when the highest court / Had given me the prophet's vision, / In eyes of men I always caught / The images of sin and treason. Then I began to promulgate / The clear love's and truth's commandment: / At me all humans threw for that / Hard sticks and stones, like the madme...»
«E’er since eternal judge gave me / A prophet’s proud omniscient manner, / In people’s eyes I’m wont to see / The wicked sway of vice’s banner. When I began to tell of love / And truth in all its purest teaching: / My fellows in a pressing shove / Stoned me, in spite of all bes...»
«A floweret, withered, odorless / In a book forgot I find; / And already strange reflection / Cometh into my mind. Bloomed, where? when? In what spring? / And how long ago? And plucked by whom? / Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand? / And wherefore left thus here? Was it in ...»