The night is full of constellations.
What advent, what intelligence
of freedom or restraint
shines in your wide pages, book
above me, what fate must I make out
in the wide midnight sky?
Ночь, полная созвездий.
Какой судьбы, каких известий
Ты широко сияешь, книга?
Свободы или ига?
Какой прочесть мне должно жребий
На полночью широком небе?
«Among the priests a young Levite / As morning sentinel for long remained / Judean night grew denser over him, / A ruined temple stood in bitter pain. He spoke: The yellow of the sky is menace / Run, Jews, over Euphrates it is night. / And old men thought: We should not take the blame here...»
«1 A river of golden honey from the bottle was pouring / So long and so thick that the hostess had time to speak: / "To this sad Taurides, where life does not get boring, / We jouneyed through fortune" — and looked over the neck. 2 There are Bacchus's services everywhere, as if in the whol...»
«The wooden organ did not roar this evening. / The cradle song of Schubert to us sang / The windmill blew and in the hurricane's singing / Laughing blue-eyed intoxication rang. The world of ancient song is green and brown, / The world of ancient song, young for all age, / Where nightingale...»
«Your fabulous enunciation — / Hot whistling of a bird of prey, / Create a true representation / Of silken eyelids, I dare say. "What" — and the head has fallen / "Why" — I am asking you / And far away the leaves are calling: / We live upon this planet too. So let them say that...»