Lightning streaked out of her eye:
“I saw you
with another lady.
You’re the most heartless,
the most horrible guy…”
and went on,
and went on,
and went on, blaming.
Listen, I’m an educated chap, darling,
let’s just end it right there, don’t grumble.
If I wasn’t killed by the lightning,
then, I swear,
I’m not scared of the thunder.
Молнию метнула глазами:
«Я видела —
с тобой другая.
Ты самый низкий,
ты подлый самый…» —
И пошла,
и пошла,
и пошла, ругая.
Я ученый малый, милая,
громыханья оставьте ваши.
Если молния меня не убила —
то гром мне
ей-богу не страшен.
«It happens so: there comes a sense of languor; / My ears ring with some disturbing chime; / The rumbling thunder turns into a clangor / Of distant voices, captured and confined. Surrounded by pleas and rueful crying / I feel this cryptic circle narrow down, / And then the crowd of murmurs...»
«All transient regimes that crumbled / All fleeting rules that were effaced / Have not disturbed Ravenna's slumber, / Lulled in eternity's embrace. The toiling slaves no longer carry / Mosaics through the Roman gates. / And glowing sunset colors tarry / On tall cathedrals' golden plates....»
«Far off at sea the sails were roving. / Oblivious to the heat, plane-trees / Unfolded their flowers slowly / And lost them to November breezes. I n the old park the branches crowded / Over a bench with whitewashed planes; / The smell of grapes seemed like a cloud / Embracing Georgian wo...»
«Today has not yet come, / And yesterday has melted. / The morning's face is wan: / An actress with no make-up. Her eyelids puffed, the dawn / Is creeping, nude and moody, / And with a weary yawn / Sinks into daily duties... Wise mornings have no haste: / The day is barely shaping, / ...»