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.
«Never can I forget (but perhaps I’m mistaken): / How in sunset’s declining fire’s blaze / Bled the sky in its crimson demise as did waken / Night in yellowing lantern-lit glaze. By the window I sat in the crowded rotunda. / Somewhere fiddles scraped loving’s refrain. / And an ebon...»
«But pointlessly the light shines dimly — / The chemist’s, streetlight, street, and night. / For quarter-century hold on grimly — / It will not change. You can’t take flight. You’ll die — again find all beginning, / And as before it all will go. / The night, canal’s ice-dazz...»
«I am a sailor, looking for new isles, / A daring rover in the waters' richness. / I'm thirsty for new flowers and sites, / Unknown highlands and unknown speeches. And women go to the passion's call, / Like faithful prayers go at the temples, / The coarse mantles of the souls fall, / The...»
«Three women — drunk, staggering, muddy — / Supporting each other, they go. / The belfries in murkiness shudder, / The crosses on churches tilt low. When heard their talk, mixed and crazy, / That sounds like song, high and hoarse, / They giggle — the coachmen, lazy, / They pass by...»