To V.
1
And still remembers the sighs of oar
My shoulder, so blissfully excited...
Under your look, escaping though,
I surely had thoughts of nothing...
Your movements bashful, timid,
And the rudder, wrongly turned...
To white nights there a great ship
Is sailing as a phantom...
And there in the clear sea
The schooner bodies are seen...
And gold of sunrise fleetly sweeps
The aimless path, the aimless bind-weed...
28 May 1908
Три послания - 1, перевод А. Блока
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114112604910
Свидетельство о публикации №114112604910
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