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.
«To be famous is not in good taste. / That is not what will exalt us. / Don’t build an archive, it’s but a waste / To raise with manuscripts a fuss. Creation calls for self-surrender / And not loud noise and cheap success. / Shame on the ignorant offender / Who lets all lips his fame...»
«Sight grows dim — my power, / Two invisible diamond lances; / Hearing fails, full of long ago thunder / And the breathing of my father’s house; / Hard knots of muscle grow feeble, / Like hoary oxen on a plow-field; / And behind my shoulders at night / No longer shine two wings. I ...»
«Every moment we were together / We celebrated, like Epiphany, / Alone in the whole world. You were / Bolder and lighter than a bird’s wing, / Head swirling with vertigo, you ran / Down the staircase and led me / Through damp lilac into your domain / On the other side of the mirror. ...»
«The rules of winter we obey. / We roll a snowball and run after, / Acclaim its growth with peals of laughter, / And brush the surplus snow away. As if misfortune were in view, / The people passing by assemble / Along the fence with lips atremble / To watch what you and I shall do. We m...»