Everyone has his special magic words,
And on the surface they mean nothing,
But when they are recalled, they flash and slip right by
And yet our heart begins to laugh and cry.
I don't like to repeat them, for I guard
Them from myself, forgetting them on purpose.
But I will meet them on the other shore,
For they are written on the gates of Heaven.
У каждого свои волшебные слова.
Они как будто ничего не значат,
Но вспомнятся, скользнут, мелькнут едва,
И сердце засмеется и заплачет.
Я повторять их не люблю; я берегу
Их от себя, нарочно забывая.
Они мне встретятся на новом берегу:
Они написаны на двери Рая.
«You'll live, but I'll not; perhaps, / The final turn is that. / Oh, how strongly grabs us / The secret plot of fate. They differently shot us: / Each creature has its lot, / Each has its order, robust, — / A wolf is always shot. In freedom, wolves are grown, / But deal with them is...»
«You, who first stood before the source / With your smile, so deadly stoned! / How tortures us a look, you own, — / The heavy look of the night-birds. / But awful years will soon pass, / You’ll be again and young and careless, / And we’ll preserve the cold, mysterious, / Of minute...»
«And now, loading the camel's hump / With worldly troubles, heavy as a rock, / We leave — the camel's humble and plump — / To finish the 'unfinishable' work: In herds of camels — to enjoy a pool, / In Hell of sands — to see Blue Nile in thoughts, / As camel's lord and Lord insta...»
«As the hand on left with the hand on right / Our souls are beside. We had both gone in a bliss of flight / As the wing on left and the wing on right. But a whirl arrived — and a chasm is left / From the wing on right to the wing on left!»