Poor poet, was that really you,
addressing the moon in rhyme?
My eyes were dulled so long ago
by love, by cards and wine.
The moon climbs through the window frame.
White light, so white it blinds you...
I bet on the Queen of Spades,
but I played the Ace of Diamonds.
Сочинитель бедный, это ты ли
Сочиняешь песни о луне?
Уж давно глаза мои остыли
На любви, на картах и вине.
Ах, луна влезает через раму,
Свет такой, хоть выколи глаза...
Ставил я на пиковую даму,
А сыграл бубнового туза.
«To V. A. Komarovsky Oh, what the unconventional words / April’s last days brought to me here. / You knew that in my heart and thoughts, / Is left that Holy Week of fear. I was not hearing the knells, / Deploring in the azure-river, / But the bronze laugh – for seven days – / Or c...»
«(From "The Moon in Zenith") A. K. Of the pearl’s light and agate’s clouds / Of the such fairly smoked glass, / By slopes of so sudden mounds, / She sailed such solemnly in skies — / As if the Moon Sonata’s sounds / Had cut our roadway at once.»
«As a white stone in the well's cool deepness, / There lays in me one wonderful remembrance. / I am not able and don't want to miss this: / It is my torture and my utter gladness. I think, that he whose look will be directed / Into my eyes, at once will see it whole. / He will become more ...»
«But there’re, somewhere, the simple life and light, / Warm, gay and absolutely clear… / There, speaks a neighbor through the fences, light, / With a sweet girl, and only bees can hear — / The gentlest talking of this kind. But here we live — the solemn ones and toilsome — / And...»