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.
«A wise and simple life I learned to live, / I pray to God in quiet meditation, / I take long wanderings before the eve / To weary the unneeded angst and tension. With burdock rustling; and the rowan red / And yellow berries gradually fading, / I form the joyous verses in my head / That ...»
«1 It was sultry from blazing light / And his every glance — like a flame. / I only started: that is right. / Me — only this one can tame. / He bent, — in a casual, low tone... / The blood sharply left my hot face. / Let love stop — like a tombstone — / My life's even, m...»
«For the resounding glory of ages to come / For the tall race of men / I have given up both the cup at my fathers' feast / My mirth and my honour. The wolf-hound age throws itself at my shoulders / But I am no wolf by my blood, / Rather stuff me like a hat into the sleeve / Of the warm o...»
«Longing, desires still ravage / my soul which strives to reach you. / In recollection's twilight / I try to catch your image. / I can't forget your face. / It is a lovely constellation, / timeless, in every place, / unreachable, not knowing fluctuation.»