My friend, I'm really just sorry
about who, in secret blindness,
passing all length of the green alley,
just can not notice on leaves
the striking network of the streaks
and points of the tubercles
or even the serrated tracks
from saws of the blue-horned slugs.
Мой друг, я искренно жалею
того, кто, в тайной слепоте.
пройдя всю длинную аллею,
не мог приметить на листе
сеть изумительную жилок,
и точки жёлтых бугорков,
и след зазубренный от пилок
голуборогих червяков.
«There the Archangel Michael / Has enrolled him in his host. / N. Gumilev. You won’t hear from him any longer, / No more letters to save. / In the fire-embraced, doleful Poland, / You won’t find his grave. Let your soul grow calm and composed, / No more loss in this war: / He’s ...»
«Is this why, for countless days, / In my arms, I carried you, / Is this why, your strength had blazed / Through your lively eyes of blue! You grew slender and much taller, / Sang, and drank Madeira wine, / To the far off Anatolia, / You destroyer was assigned. Somewhere on Malahov moun...»
«Give me sickness without an end, / Suffocation and fevers prolonged, / Take away both my child and friend, / My mysterious gift of the song — / After mass, thus I’m praying, impassioned, / After so many tormented days, / Let the menacing cloud over Russia / Shimmer brightly in glor...»
«“Where, tall lady, is your gypsy child? / One who cried in your soft black shawl? / Where’s your firstborn, so little and mild, / What exactly about him do you recall?” “A mother’s fate — it’s a glorious torment, / And back then, I was unworthy, you see. / The gate into heav...»