Trinity devotions. Morning cannon rite,
Birch-trees in the grove are filled with ringing light.
Villagers are coming after festive sleep,
In the chimes of wind the heady spring will steep.
There are bands and branches on the window panes.
I will cry with flowers over grieves and pains.
Sing, you birds, lamenting, I will sing along,
We'll consign to dust my boyhood to this song.
Trinity devotions. Morning cannon rite,
Birch-trees in the grove are filled with ringing light.
Троицыно утро, утренний канон,
В роще по березкам белый перезвон.
Тянется деревня с праздничного сна,
В благовесте ветра хмельная весна.
На резных окошках ленты и кусты.
Я пойду к обедне плакать на цветы.
Пойте в чаще, птахи, я вам подпою,
Похороним вместе молодость мою.
Троицыно утро, утренний канон.
В роще по березкам белый перезвон.
«One goes in straightforward ways, / One in a circle roams: / Waits for a girl of his gone days, / Or for returning home. But I do go — and woe is there — / By a way nor straight, nor broad, / But into never and nowhere, / Like trains — off the railroad.»
«On the whitest porch of Eden, / Looking back, he cried, “I wait!” / He bequeathed to me life written / For a pauper and a saint. And when heavens are transparent, / Sees, while ringing with his wings, / How I share my meal barren / With a bagger who it needs. And when, as if after ...»
«Our so holly and beautiful craft / Exists from a dawn of the world… / With it — world’s enlighten’d without a light. / But still not a single bard said the word: / “There is no wisdom, and no the old, / And death is a tale, just twice told.”»
«And we’ve forgotten till doomsdays, / In the wild capital — our prison — / The towns, steppes, dawns and lakes / Of our great land, as if in treason. / In a bloody circle, day and night, / We’re pined by the abusive leisure… / And none to help us in our plight, / ...»