Look, here is the powerless man,
Who was unable to save the life,
And it now, as the spirit of grave,
Is sleeping heavily, locked up.
In the blue vault the ill disk,
Though compressed, had spitted all
With a colour yellow, menacing
With a frost untolerable.
So you should also go.
You, at last, had suffered much,
Poor friend, from melancholy,
From his tortures, in the past.
But all, that have been, had passed now,
Your fate is such similar, compared -
The heart was aspiring the true world,
But was smashed by lie to nowhere.
30.12.1913
Поглядите, вот бессильный... - пер. А. Блока
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112042605849
Свидетельство о публикации №112042605849
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