He hung without swaying
Thin belt on branch's bend.
His hat — a black remainder
Marred freshly combed sand.
Left palm, pierced by the nails,
Of still, yet stiffened hand.
The sun ascended slowly
For noon its horses set,
He faced the morning Helios
In somber tet-a-tet.
The man with frozen eyelids —
A risen silhouette.
And focused, focused, focused
His gaze was on the east.
Below, a crowd gathered
The voices hushed and triste.
Slim belt almost obscured
By early morning mist.
Висел он, не качаясь,
На узком ремешке.
Свалившаяся шляпа
Чернела на песке.
В ладонь впивались ногти
На стиснутой руке.
А солнце восходило,
Стремя к полудню бег,
И, перед этим солнцем
Не опуская век,
Был высоко приподнят
На воздух человек.
И зорко, зорко, зорко
Смотрел он на восток.
Внизу столпились люди
В притихнувший кружок.
И был почти невидим
Тот узкий ремешок.
«1 It's time!... Oh, to forget Zhukovsky Street, / The white-walled house, the city's roofs and arches, / Its zoo-like din.... Away! Away to meet / The winking mushrooms and the nodding birches / Of Moscow's princely, sparkling, dewy fall, / The skies remote, the leaves and grasses rustlin...»
«From the cycle NORTHERN ELEGIES One's memories live long and have three epochs. / The first is close, like yesterday.... Within / Its hallowed bower the soul enjoys repose, / And in its shade the body refuge finds.... / The tears stream still, the peals of laughter linger, / The spot of i...»
«From a Wayfarer's Letters II I have treated my heart with a ruthless abandon / In poetry, in friendship, in grief and in passion. / Forgive me, my darling. Let bygones be bygones. / I suffer. Yet all this is joy in its fashion. / / And even my black fits of burning depression, / The s...»
«From a Wayfarer's Letters V And this I solemnly declare: / That I have lived no worthless year, / Nor trodden any road for naught, / Nor closed any mind to any thought, / Nor closed my ears to any news, / Nor given gifts where none were due. / Neither do I my Love regret, / Deceived ...»