The river quietly dreams.
Dark forest stands still.
Crake doesn’t scream.
And nightingales don’t trill.
It’s a night of silence.
The rill hardly makes a sound,
While moon’s brilliance
Silvers everything around.
Silver shines the river.
Silver shines the rill.
Silver shines and shivers
Dewy grass on the hill.
Night. Just silence.
All nature sleeps, safe and sound,
While moon’s brilliance
Silvers everything around.
Тихо дремлет река.
Тёмный бор не шумит.
Соловей не поёт
И дергач не кричит.
Ночь. Вокруг тишина.
Ручеёк лишь журчит.
Своим блеском луна
Всё вокруг серебрит.
Серебрится река.
Серебрится ручей.
Серебрится трава
Орошённых степей.
Ночь. Вокруг тишина.
В природе все спит.
Своим блеском луна
Всё вокруг серебрит.
«We look at woods and say: / Here is a forest of ships and of masts, / The pink pines / Stand free to their tops from mossy accretions, / They should creak in a storm / As do lone-standing stone pines / In the infuriated foresdess air; / Beneath the salty heel of wind the plumb line sta...»
«I’ll chase through the gypsy camp of dark streets / After a spray of cherries in a black spring carriage / After its hood of snow and endless windmill creak. I only recall the rimfire of chestnut curls / Smoked over with bitterness, no, with sour formic acid; / They left an amber dryness ...»
«Last night I tell you, I do not lie, / Up to the waist in melting snow, / I struggled from some strange railway halt. / I saw a hut and entered in: / Black monks were drinking tea and salt / While a gypsy girl made up to them. At the bedhead all the while / She kept on beckoning with he...»
«I returned to my city, familiar as tears, / As veins, as mumps from childhood years. You’ve returned here, so swallow as quick as you can / The fish oil of Leningrad’s riverside lamps. Recognize when you can December’s brief day, / Egg yolk folded into its ominous tar. Petersburg! I s...»