К Музе - перевод А. Блока

Людмила 31
In your songs innermost there are
The fatal news all about the death,
And the curse of the holy behests,
Profanation of happiness, lest
The attracting invincible force,
That I'm ready to reiterate talks
That you'd angels brought down to earth
By your beauty so perfect,
utmost.
When you laugh at belief, there appears
A softened circle, which's purple-grey coloured,
Whether bad, may be good - not from here
You are, thus hard to wonder:
For some people you're - the Miracle,
For me -


© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2011
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my Muse - is the torture and hell,
I don't know, why in the morning,
In hour of a weakness total
I've been not perished, but your face
I've seen and asked you a console?
I wished us being only foes...
Then why did you presented me
Such a beautiful and reach green meadow
And a starry vault's solidity?
All that the helled amenities?
And more perfidious, than a night northen,
More heady, than a wine light-golden,
More short, than a gypsy'love cold,
Were your such awful endearments.
And there

Людмила 31   05.06.2011 17:04   •   Заявить о нарушении
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an enjoyment fatal
In trampling of the cherished dreams,
A reckless, but so sweetheart pleasure
And a passion bitter as absinth.

Людмила 31   05.06.2011 17:12   Заявить о нарушении
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