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!
«What a cold autumn! / Put on your shawl and bonnet. / Look: beyond the pines / It’s as if a fire is rising. / / Close to you, I always remember / The radiance of an autumn night; / Its phosphorous eyes still shine, / But they no longer warm me. »
«I have come to you with greetings, / To say that the sun has risen / And that it is quivering on the leaves / With its fiery light; / / To say that the forest has woken — / Everything has woken, every branch, / Every bird has stirred, / Full of springtime thirst; To say that I ha...»
«I’ll go along a familiar path to meet them, / The skies that glow with such a delicate amber sunset — / Imperishable as paradise. / Far off, the fading edge of the world has curled away; / The evening coolness breathes and doesn’t breathe, / And the ripening ears barely sway. / No,...»
«One southern night I lay upon a haystack, / My face toward the firmament, / And the lively and harmonious choir / Shone and quavered all around. / / The Earth, mute as in a hazy dream, / Hurtled away into infinity, / And all alone like the first resident of paradise, / I looked nigh...»