Flowers bid goodbye to me,
Bowing their heads ever lower,
A sign that her face and my homeland
I am never more to see.
Be it so, my love! God bless!
You and earth my sight delighted.
I accept like a caress
This death-tremor and this silence.
And because I fully grasp
Life entire and, smiling, greet it,
I vow — from the first to last
All in it can be repeated.
When a new man comes along,
Grief shall not consume the loser,
He shall sing a better song
Than the old one she was used to.
As she hears the melody
With her lover of that hour,
Maybe she’ll remember me —
An inimitable flower.
Цветы мне говорят — прощай,
Головками склоняясь ниже,
Что я навеки не увижу
Ее лицо и отчий край.
Любимая, ну, что ж! Ну, что ж!
Я видел их и видел землю,
И эту гробовую дрожь
Как ласку новую приемлю.
И потому, что я постиг
Всю жизнь, пройдя с улыбкой мимо, —
Я говорю на каждый миг,
Что все на свете повторимо.
Не все ль равно — придет другой,
Печаль ушедшего не сгложет,
Оставленной и дорогой
Пришедший лучше песню сложит.
И, песне внемля в тишине,
Любимая с другим любимым,
Быть может, вспомнит обо мне
Как о цветке неповторимом.
«Many things want my voice to praise them, / Many things rumble, seemingly speechless; / Or they gnaw at rocks underground in the dark, / Or they show up in a circle of smoke, / But because I’ve not settled my score / With wind, water, and fire, / Sleepless nights can suddenly take me ...»
«Let’s sit down close by, darling, / Let your eyes encounter mine. / I would like to feel my heart wheel / To the meekness of your eyes. Both this lavish gold of autumn / And the blondish of a hair tress – / Every little thing has cropped in / To relieve a restless scapegrace. I ...»
«I love God’s wrath, this Evil! / Invisible, mysterious, poured through everything: / in the flowers, in the glass-clear stream, / in the rainbow-rays, in the very sky of Rome. / The same high, cloudless sky, / your breast's same sweet breath, / the same warm wind rustling tree-to...»
«We'll depart this world for ever, surely, / To repose in peace and quite. Oh, my Lord! / Maybe, I shall also have to duly / Pack my things preparing for the road. / / Oh, my birch-tree woods! Amazing pictures! / Oh, my dear land! My sandy plains! / In the face of crowds of mortal crea...»