По улице моей который год... - пер. Б. Ахмадулиной

On quiet lanes for many years
The steps are heard - my friends are passing far away...
This slow pass complies with only that -
The darkness out windows and farther...
Oh loneliness! How you are hard to bear!
You're sparkling with the compasse's iron coldly
And drawing a whole circle there,
Without the attention to a woe!
Let give me chance to stand on tip-toes
In your wood at the end of the slow gesture,
And find the leaf, and bring it to my face,
And thus to feel the fair orphan's pleasure.
Let you present me libraries so still,
The strict motives of concerts and at this time
I'll grow wiser,and I'll leave behind
All those, who had passed or who is living.
And I'll accept the knowledge and the grief,
The hidden core would things deliver to me.
And Nature, having leant against the shoulder,
Will represent her inner childish secrets.
And then from tears, from the darkness black,
From poor no-nothing of the past times,
The features wonderful of all my friends
Will once appear and again will pass by...