Silver bluebell, are you singing,
Or, perchance, my heart is dreaming?
Light from rosy icon flashes
Falling on my golden lashes.
Though I'm not that gentle infant
in the flapping splash of pigeons,
Yet my dreams are sweet and distant,
Somewhere in the woodland regions.
I don't need the narrow house,
Word and mystery won't welcome.
Teach me, please, to dream and drowse,
Fall asleep and never waken.
Колокольчик среброзвонный,
Ты поёшь? Иль сердцу снится?
Свет от розовой иконы
На златых моих ресницах.
Пусть не я тот нежный отрок
В голубином крыльев плеске,
Сон мой радостен и кроток
О нездешнем перелеске.
Мне не нужен вздох могилы,
Слову с тайной не обняться.
Научи, чтоб можно было
Никогда не просыпаться.
«Living sparks no longer answer friendly banter. / There's deepest night in me. Dawn it will not see. / Soon there'll fly into the gloom, unnoticed, / The dying fire's thin smoke, the last there'll ever be.»
«Separation has this lofty meaning: / if love lasts years, / if but a day it takes, / loveТs just a dream / and weТre a moment dreaming, / and whether early, whether late the waking, / the time must finally arrive when we awake.»
«Melting in the air above the valley, / distant bells are chiming / like flocks of flapping cranes, / dying away in the rustle of leaves, / bright, like the swelling sea of spring, / crystal-like, like day at a distance, / while faster, quieter, / shadow lies around the valley.»
«I love a thunder — storm at the beginning of May, / when spring’s first thunder, / as though play, in a frolic, / rumbles in the blue sky. The young peals of thunder rattle. / Now it is drizzling, / dust is flying, pearls are hanging, / and the sun is gilding the treads. A swift to...»