The snowstorm is crying like a Romany violin.
Sweet is the girl. She is wicked when smiling.
Blue are her eyes, do the give me a scare?
I need quite a lot, and I don't really care.
We're so much alike and so much contrasted, —
You're young. I am old. And my life has all rusted.
The young ones are happy while I am all wizened
Recalling the past, in this terrible blizzard.
I'mnot mollycoddled. The storm is my violin.
My heart is snow-clad when I see you smiling.
Плачет метель, как цыганская скрипка.
Милая девушка, злая улыбка,
Я ль не робею от синего взгляда?
Много мне нужно и много не надо.
Так мы далеки и так не схожи —
Ты молодая, а я все прожил.
Юношам счастье, а мне лишь память
Снежною ночью в лихую замять.
Я не заласкан — буря мне скрипка.
Сердце метелит твоя улыбка.
«Do you remember? In the harbor passive, / Just where green water calmly sleeps, / Set in the column, strong and massive, / Appeared navy's silent ships. All four were gray. And many questions / Were shortly overwhelming us, / And sailors, very tanned and fashioned, / To shore in solemn ...»
«The earthly heart quit freezes blood, / But, with my breast, I meet great cold. / I bear on the empty road / The virgin love to all mankind. But, behind love, grow the wrath, / Heavy derision, and desire / To read in eyes of all entire / Oblivion or the final choice. And let they call,...»
«To S. Soloviev The faithless shadows of day are running / And high and clear is the call of bells, / Steps of the church are blazed as with the lightning, / Their stones are alive and wait for your light steps. You'll here pass and touch the chilly stone, / That's dressed in awful sanity...»
«A flame's in skies. The night lays dead and grey. / The wood's high trees are crowding around, / But in the night I clear hear sound — / The hum of mobs in city faraway. One can detect the set of buildings, bold, / And towers and teeth of its austere loop-holes, / And shady gardens in ...»