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.
«What utter happiness is it to be forsaken! / What heaven's light can one see in the past! — / Like when cold winter after summer breaks in, / We dream of sun that long ago left us. A dried flower, a bundle of lover’s letters, / Few happy dates, a light of smiling eyes, — / And tho...»
«Kisses on the breast, like water from a pitcher! / Not always, not ceaseless spurts the summer's well. / Nor shall we raise up the hurdy-gurdy's clamour / Each night from the dust with feet that stamp and trail. I have heard of age, — those hideous forebodings! / When no wave will lift it...»
«Athirst for insects, butterflies. / And stains we long had waited, / And round us both were memories / Of heat, mint, honey plaited. No clocks chimed, but the flail rang clear / From dawn to dusk and planted / Its dreams of stings into the air. / The weather was enchanted. Strolled sun...»
«A lilac heat was heavy on the meadow, / High in the wood cathedral's darkness swelled. / What in the world was left still for their kisses? / It was all theirs, soft wax in fingers held. Such is the dream — you do not sleep, but only / Dream that you thirst for sleep, that someone lies / ...»