Tears... again these bitter tears,
For broken dreams that flew far away,
For dreaded sadness that nothing cheers,
For new darkness, that nothing keeps at bay.
What is to come? More such torment?
No, its enough... It is time to rest, let go,
And to forget the sounds of lament,
A heart is full and can stand it no more.
Who is singing in the shade of the birch tree?
The sounds are familiar — the tears again...
These tears are for my homeland and to me
They are full of longing, worry and pain.
I am in my beloved country; yet, my grave —
Heart languishes in tears, I weep...
Now it seems that only in a cold grave
I will be able to forget and find some sleep.
Слёзы… опять эти горькие слёзы,
Безотрадная грусть и печаль;
Снова мрак… и разбитые грёзы
Унеслись в бесконечную даль.
Что же дальше? Опять эти муки?
Нет, довольно… Пора отдохнуть
И забыть эти грустные звуки,
Уж и так истомилася грудь.
Кто поёт там под сенью берёзы?
Звуки будто знакомые мне —
Это слёзы опять… Это слёзы
И тоска по родной стороне.
Но ведь я же на родине милой,
А в слезах истомил свою грудь.
Эх… лишь, видно, в холодной могиле
Я забыться могу и заснуть.
«Out of the leprosarium of falsity and malice / I have roused you and taken you Into reveille! Out of the dead sleep of headstones — / Into my hands, here into these palms, both of them, Shell-like — now grow, be calm: / Grow like a pearl in these palms! O, neither sheikh nor shah may b...»
«Fierce valley, / Valley of love. / Hands: white with salt. / Mouth: black with blood. A left-breasted Amazon’s / Shaft just missed my temple. / Yes — my head on a stone — / Life, who could love you? To hell with my plans! To hell with my lies! / Here: as a lark, there: as...»
«Time I got the message. / In my deaf stupor — time / For those laws of the sublime / Life does telegraph. Uncertainly — on my shoulders, / My head crowned and pushed on. / Uncertainly — as a solitary ray, / Unnoticed in daylight. As if from a slack string — / Dust — shaken ...»
«Through all the tedious tasks of the day, / During all your arduous convulsions upon her, / You must let fall a few amiable trochees / Of mine, of me, your manly mistress. Of my sternness’ bitter edge, / Of my slight shyness’ latent heat, / And of my telegraphic stroke, / Whose name...»