OK, Graylegs, time to set the plow
aside. Rainstorm lashes our faces.
Time to turn back to the barn,
to dinner, dreams, and darkness.
Полно, сивка, видно, тра
Бросить соху. Хлещет ливень и сечет.
Видно, ждет нас до утра
Сон, коняшня и почет.
«It was at the dawn of spring, / the grass was barely green, / streams ran, the heat was gentle, / light shone through the trees: no sound of shepherd’s flute / yet, in the morning world, / and the slender forest fern / was still so tightly curled. It was at the dawn of spring, / in...»
«When you read these anguished lines / Where from heart’s roaring blaze the flames issue, / And passion’s fatal flood swells and climbs, / Do they speak never a word to you? How to credit it! In the steppe, that night, / When through midnight’s fog premature dawn, / Translucent, love...»
«How sad! The alley’s end / Is lost once more in snow, / Once more silver snakes extend / Their trails through its icy glow. In the sky not a streak of blue, / The steppe is smooth and white, / A single crow struggles through, / Beating against the stormy light. My soul is like frozen...»
«"How deep and dark the delirium! / How clouded the moonlit heights! / To have touched the violin so long / yet not know the strings in the light! Who wants us now? Who lights / two faded melancholy faces?"... / And the bow felt someone suddenly / seize them, and bring them together. "O...»