Over a pier, the first beacon inflamed -- The vanguard of other sea-rangers;
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One goes in straightforward ways, One in a circle roams:
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I -- am your voice, the warmth of your breath, I -- am the reflection of your face,
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We do not carry it in lockets on the breast, And do not cry about it in poems,
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They didn't meet me, roamed, On steps with lanterns bright.
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When, in the night, I wait for her, impatient, Life seems to me, as hanging by a thread.
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This evening's light is golden bright,
The April’s coolness is so tender,
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When Jacob and Rachel met for the first time,
He bowed to her like a humble wayfarer.
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The lot by the graves was a dusty hot land; The river behind -- blue and cool.
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My breast grew helplessly cold,
But my steps were light.
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I have no use for odic legions,
Or for the charm of elegiac play
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Something of heavens ever burns in it, I like to watch its wondrous facets' growth.
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I drink to home, that is lost, To evil life of mine,
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The garden rang with music
Of inexpressible despair.
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How can you bear to look at the Neva?
How can you bear to cross the bridges?.
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I think, the king was fierce, though young, When he proclaimed, "You’ll level Thebes with ground."
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I saw my friend to the front door
I stood in the golden dust.
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It ceased – the voice, inimitable here, The peer of groves left forever us,
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So again we triumph! Again we do not come!
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And Pushkin's exile had begun right here, And Lermontov's expulsion had been "canceled."
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Black and enduring separation I share equally with you.
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You, who was born for poetry’s creation, Do not repeat the sayings of the ancients.
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To fall ill as one should, deliriously Hot, meet everyone again,
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One goes in straightforward ways, One in a circle roams:
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He did love three things in this world: Choir chants at vespers, albino peacocks,
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The two of us won’t share a glass together
Be it of water or of sweet red wine;
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A widow in black -- the crying fall Covers all hearts with a depressing cloud...
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Now no-one will be listening to songs. The days long prophesied have come to pass.
8 lines, 1 comment
Let somebody else rest by southern sea, Enjoying the paradise land,
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Somewhere there is a simple life and a world, Transparent, warm and joyful. . .
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