Maybe, it's too late or, maybe, early,
It has not occurred to me for years,
I resemble now Don Juan, really,
Like a proper flippant man of verse.
What's the matter? What has happened, really?
Every day I have some other chick.
And I lose self-pity, willy-nilly,
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.
I have always kept my heart from simple,
Tender feelings, and I wonder what
I am looking for in oh, so cripple
Women, so light-headed, and so void.
Hold me back, restrain me, scornful feeling,
I have always been marked up by you.
In my heart I have a chilly steaming
And the rustle of lilac, so blue.
In my heart I have a lemon sunset,
Through the fog I hear someone say:
For your freedom you will have to answer,
Well, Don Juan, take the challenge, eh?
As I take the challenge within reason,
I can see the same old thing I have:
I must take a storm for blooming season
And mistake a thrill for real love.
That's the reason That's the way it happened.
Every day I have some other chick,
So that I might always smile, be happy
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.
Может, поздно, может, слишком рано,
И о чем не думал много лет,
Походить я стал на Дон-Жуана,
Как заправский ветреный поэт.
Что случилось? Что со мною сталось?
Каждый день я у других колен.
Каждый день к себе теряю жалость,
Не смиряясь с горечью измен.
Я всегда хотел, чтоб сердце меньше
Вилось в чувствах нежных и простых,
Что ж ищу в очах я этих женщин —
Легкодумных, лживых и пустых?
Удержи меня, мое презренье,
Я всегда отмечен был тобой.
На душе холодное кипенье
И сирени шелест голубой.
На душе — лимонный свет заката,
И все то же слышно сквозь туман, —
За свободу в чувствах есть расплата,
Принимай же вызов, Дон-Жуан!
И, спокойно вызов принимая,
Вижу я, что мне одно и то ж —
Чтить метель за синий цветень мая,
Звать любовью чувственную дрожь.
Так случилось, так со мною сталось,
И с того у многих я колен,
Чтобы вечно счастье улыбалось,
Не смиряясь с горечью измен.
«Night, streets, the lantern, the drugstore, / The meaningless and dusky light. / A quarter of the century more — / All fall the same into your sight! You died — as it was before — / You have the former way to start: / The streets, the lantern, the drugstore, / Swell of the canal ...»
«The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves, / And washes both banks. / In steppe, above light clay of cliffs / Rinks mourn in ranks. O Russia! Dear wife! With clearness and pain / We see the lengthy way! / It sent an arrow of ancient Tartar reign — / In breast it lay. The way throug...»
«Your sweetheart forever leaving, / Friend, you swear me to love!.. / And in lands of boring living / To preserve the pledge above!.. Outside our Denmark, happy, / Your dark shores lay in grief... / And the tide, enraged and gabby, / Washes tears on a reef... Dressed not in the silk ...»
«Don't call. Without any summons / I'll reach the shrine. / And droop my head in even silence / To your feet fine. I will your orders shyly listen / And will remain / To catch our meetings, short and instant, / And wish again. I fell before your passions' power, / Before its wave, / ...»