Not for safe-keeping for awhile, –
For the altar, not donation, –
For the fire, the fire, its oblation
Rapt Israel brought in times gone by!
And pleasing to Jehovah’s nostrils
Was smoke from sacrificial fires,
Because a consecrated offering
In truth, can not be taken back…
You, pastors of the flocks of Christ,
Merchants with a priestly ranking!
What is your gift? A simple price:
Deposit and withdrawal banking!
And Israel, your ancient torch
Shall shine above the world again,
The cross atop the church is stained
And God is clearly not within!
Не на храненье до поры, —
На жертвенник, а не в копилку, —
В огонь, в огонь Израиль пылкий
Издревле нес свои дары!
И дымный жертвенный пожар
Ноздрям Господним был приятен,
Затем, что посвященный дар
Поистине был безвозвратен...
Вы, пастыри Христовых стад,
Купцы с апостольской осанкой!
Что ваша жертва? Только вклад:
Внесли и вынули из банка!
И оттого твой древний свет
Над миром всходит вновь, Израиль,
Что крест над церковью истаял
И в этой церкви Бога нет!
«We went out of the stuffy room / Outside, the air languorous and sweet; / The lilac siblings of an indifferent family / Were staring from the balcony. The piping of sea reeds / And rubies, tossed about the splashes… / We strolled aimlessly for a long while / In between rocks on the lo...»
«Houses, bewitched by the morning; / The lack of people puts a spell on me, / And freshness lulls me. / In the sky — the wings of a frosty day. Lonely people pass by, / But all is quiet, as if they are not there, / No one, as if there is no one... / In the heights — a pale rose-color...»
«The night bright, the sky studded with stars, / I am all alone in the deserted hall / The air of which is imbued with and poisoned / By the aroma of wilting azaleas. I am tormented by a vague longing / For everything that cannot be again. / The gloomy hall — how grey and boring! — whi...»
«The more the autumn wind is wicked / And the moon desperate, — / The merrier we, vagrants, get / With a bottle of wine. We wandered the whole day through / The field, with a sleuth and a rifle… / We are comrades — nothing more — / Unacknowledging sorrow. What is love? Rapture, ...»