Yes, yes! In blind and tender passion
wear out the pain, burn out the fire;
rip your heart up, like a letter,
lose your mind, and then expire.
And then? Once more to roll away
the gravestone that lies over you;
to love once more, and flash your feet
upon a stage of moonlit blue.
Да, да! В слепой и нежной страсти
Переболей, перегори,
Рви сердце, как письмо, на части,
Сойди с ума, потом умри.
И что ж? Могильный камень двигать
Опять придется над собой,
Опять любить и ножкой дрыгать
На сцене лунно-голубой.
«9 With a red brush / The mountain-ash burned: / The leaves were falling / And I was born. Hundreds of belltowers / Argued at least. / It was the Saturday: / John the Baptist. And in my teeth now / I want to crush / The hot ashberry's / Bitter brush.»
«1 In a shady ring my eyes / She surrounded — insomnia. / With a shady wreath insomnia / Did my eyes bind. At night — the same! / To idols don't pray. / Idol-worshipper — I'll give / Your secret away. To you — day's not enough, / Fire of sun above! You pale-faced one, we...»
«3 In my giant city it is night. / From the sleepy home I alight / People think: Daughter and wife / And I recall just this: Night. On my way blows the wind of July / And somewhere music in a window — barely. / Ah, now the wind will blow until dawn / Into the chest through the chest's...»
«After a sleepless night the body gets weaker, / It becomes dear and not yours — and nobody's. / Just like a seraph you smile to people / And arrows moan in the slow arteries. After a sleepless night the arms get weaker / And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe. / Smells like Flor...»