Clear-etched lines of mountains;
The pale-untrustworthy sea…
My excited vision un-curtained,
Drowns in the shoreless leas.
In my hidden hopes created
The natural world is ideal,
And all is ashes that is real:
The water, the steppe, the cliffs.
Чёткие линии гор;
Бледно-неверное море...
Гаснет восторженный взор,
Тонет в бессильном просторе.
Создал я в тайных мечтах
Мир идеальной природы, —
Что перед ним этот прах:
Степи, и скалы, и воды!
«The battalion commander stood up and broke / A reed with his dry hand: / "So you want to say goodbye to your wife / She is dying, you understand. I cannot let you go, not now; / Without you there is one less gun. / Our last battle will be tonight. / To the left! About face! Go, son!" ....»
«A woman standing in the doorway; / In sunset — head to feet. / Winding black yarn on her black shuttle. / She watched the sun retreat. Her hand, in shadow at her temple. / Would Hash and lie down then; / That mountaineer's quick hand was winding / My life like yarn again. An ox, munc...»
«A bird-catcher’s job takes practice: / Learn the habits of the birds, / Know the time of their migrations. / Duplicate their different calls. But as he roams down the roadways, / Spending a night by a fence, / Diedel is happy, Diedel does / Sing his songs and catch his birds. Nightin...»
«Among fish, among stars / A fishing boat sneaks / To Odessa with contraband, / Manned by three Greeks. / Hanging over the starboard / Where the chasm is near us: / Yanaki, Stavraki / And Papa Satyros. / Look how the wind whoops / And comes howling ...»