Attractive smiles of hers were meant
The Poet’s love to tantalize,
It wasn’t love that's backward sent
By his appriciating eyes:
It was a lovely gracious dream,
Light dream of His imagination.
It wasn't love: Apollo's beam
Served for the poet's inspiration.
А. С. Пушкину
Она улыбкою своей
Поэта в жертвы пригласила,
Но не любовь ответом ей,
Взор ясный думой осенила.
Нет, это был сей лёгкий сон,
Сей тонкий сон воображенья,
Что посылает Аполлон
Не для любви, для вдохновенья.
«This winter night I travel out, / This winter night, I cannot sleep: / From corners, shelves, from all about, / Across and through its heavy shroud, / The rosy-colored twilight seeps. Having flipped the silver goblets / Over in the drowsy air, / The lilies pour me fragrant droplets / ...»
«Among the worlds, and in the stellar light / One Star repeatedly I call by name... / And not because She is the one I loved, / But just because the others slake my flame. And if the burden of my doubt is hard / From Her I seek an answer, unimpeded, / Not for the light She's casting as a S...»
«Scorched by the fire of the sky’s unmoving body, / The pick-ax stops clanging out its accursed lesson. / And nailed onto the earth, the piled autumnal haystacks / Of sleeping working-men are black as any downpour. The last decision of some dark and savage forces, / A vertical ray’s call...»
«The all-dressed-up in gold, consumptive-looking gardens — / Where their slow sickness wears magenta-rich veneers. / The late glow of the sun lingering in its brief arches / Having no power to take the shape of fragrant fruit. Also the coarse footprints, the yellow silk of carpets. / The c...»