Along the hard crust of deep snows, To the secret, white house of yours, So gentle and quiet ' we both Are walking, in silence half-lost. And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,...
And Pushkin's exile had begun right here, And Lermontov's expulsion had been "canceled." There is the easy grasses' scent on highland. And only once it chanced to me to see it --...
Hands wrought under the dark veil… “What is it that makes you so pale and faint?” - I’m afraid that I made him drunk with the ale Of bitter anguish and torturous pain....
How can you bear to look at the Neva? How can you bear to cross the bridges?. Not in vain am I known as the grieving one Since the time you appeared to me. The black angels' wings are sharp,...
I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice, And the rich summer's welcome loss I hear In the sickle's serpentine hiss Cutting the corn's ear tightly pressed to ear. And the short skirts of the slim reapers...
I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . "Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?" -- Because I have made my loved one drunk with an astringent sadness.
Under her dark veil she wrung her hands. "Why are you so pale today?" "Because I made him drink of stinging grief Until he got drunk on it. How can I forget? He staggered out,...
You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. ...