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.
«To A. N. Chebotarevsky Hilly groves, caved with crimson, / Blue, scowling mountains far away… / In the back-country, on refined thorns, / Climbs the wild hop. An errant ray of silvery light… / As in a coffin, the Earth gets colder / And clears off with the exuberant grief...»
«Children of the city, withered faded flowers, / I love you for the completion that a dream empowers. If only this forehead would smooth out from strain, / If only these eyes were not so sad and drained, If only these bodies were not starved and thin, / How much joyful enmity would have surge...»
«In memory of Pyotr Nesterov He ascended hence skyward, to airy blue heights, / Those skies seemed his natural home, / He defended our mother, our Russia beloved, / Protected her heavenly dome. And while flying alone our winged warrior spied / Three enemy ships out to kill. / Now imp...»
«When Love waters your buried root / With springs of tears, and bleak gloom, / Like Death's canopy, by a magic grove / Where Dante wandered surrounds the living trunk — You rise up with your proud heads, / O hymns, into the light, shining translucent over the crimson darkness / Of...»