Brooding, dark, and elegant —
Stranger, aren't you the man
who frightened the children yesterday?
«Mama!» they shouted, «he's wicked!» and ran.
You went to visit my sweetheart
where she took the evening air,
said: «Permit me to introduce myself...»
And laughed: «...how beautiful you are...»
She twisted the ring on her finger,
smiled like any coquette, and said:
«Sir, I've heard of your wicked adventures—
but why is your glove stained red?»
«Believe me, Lady,
those stories aren't true—
Do I look like an evil adventurer?
I'm only as old as you.»
«Oh sir, I can hardly believe that...
you have such melancholy eyes!»
Strands of spider-glitter drifted
in the water-mirrored skies.
Two figures were seen on the pathway,
the little boat was gone...
And a long embrace of water
silenced my sweetheart's moan.
Смугол, темен и изящен,
Не от тебя ли, незнакомец, вчера
С криком «Маменьки! он страшен!»
Разбежалась детвора?
Ты подошел, где девица:
«Позвольте представиться!»
Взял труд поклониться
И намекнул с смешком: «Красавица!»
Она же, играя перчаткой,
Тебя вдруг спросила лукаво:
«О сударь с красною печаткой,
О вас дурная очень слава?»
«Я не знахарь, не кудесник,
Верить можно ли молве?
Знайте, дева, я ровесник
<. . . . . . . . . .>
Она же: «Извините!
Задумчивый какой!»
Летят паучьи нити
На синий водопой.
Пошли по тропке двое,
И взята ими лодка.
И вскоре дно морское
Уста целовало красотке.
«I shut Homer and sat by the bay window glass. / On my lips the last word of the Iliad fluttered. / The night watchman’s long shadow unhurriedly passed, / And above something — lamplight or moonlight — bright sputtered. So, so often I’d throw down challenging looks / And I met in rep...»
«No, I can’t ever forget / your child’s mouth, your girl’s glance, / bold — I dream of you, / I speak, I think of you — always — like rhythm. I feel vast oceans / heaving as the moon yaws, / and whole galaxies, burning, / swinging as they have always swung, will always swing....»
«Being drawn into earthly passions, / I vision as from gloom to light / Once, dressed in black, Dark Angel rushes / To cry: "Salvation is a lie!" Yet, unassuming and lighthearted, / Delightful as a noble deed, / Comes angel from the white department / To add that hope is true indeed.»
«To Vl. Motyl As a child, I was convinced / that from all conditions / Potion of the Danish Prince / is the most efficient. / And that faith is burning since / brighter every year... / Potion of the Danish Prince / Savor, cavalier! Potion of this Prince or King / is as sweet as cand...»