Where, my childhood’s home, art thou,
Warm beneath the hillock’s brow?
And my little blue, blue bud,
And the sand where no one trod?
Where, my childhood’s home, art thou?
Past the river sings the cock.
There the shepherd grazed his flock
And amid the water’s play
Shone three stars from far away.
Past the river sings the cock.
Time, a windmill with a wing.
Makes the pendulum moon to swing
Past the village, on the grain.
Speeds for hours the unseen rain.
Time, a windmill with a wing.
Rain with arrows in a crowd
Has convulsed my home with cloud,
Mowed the blue bud from the land,
Trampled down the golden sand,
Rain with arrows in a crowd.
Где ты, где ты, отчий дом,
Гревший спину под бугром?
Синий, синий мой цветок,
Неприхоженный песок.
Где ты, где ты, отчий дом?
За рекой поет петух.
Там стада стерег пастух,
И светились из воды
Три далекие звезды.
За рекой поет петух.
Время — мельница с крылом
Опускает за селом
Месяц маятником в рожь
Лить часов незримый дождь.
Время — мельница с крылом.
Этот дождик с сонмом стрел
В тучах дом мой завертел,
Синий подкосил цветок,
Золотой примял песок.
Этот дождик с сонмом стрел.
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«What does a woman alone know about mortal time? / O. Mandelstam Ever the best dressed of all, of all the rosiest and tallest, / Why do you rise up from the depth of murderous years? / And why does memory wave at me ravishingly / With your transparent profile from a carriage window? / How ...»
«I thought I already knew about insomnia, / All its abysses and trails, / But this is like clattering horses / Under a trumpet’s wild shriek. / I step foot into empty houses, / Into someone else’s domestic life. / All is still except for the white shades / Afloat in foreign mirrors....»
«But I warn you / That I am alive for the last time. / Neither as sparrow, nor maple. / Nor reed, nor star, / Nor spring water, / Nor bells in a tower — / I will not embarrass people / By visiting in strange dreams / With unquenchable moans.»