All, that memory tries to keep thourouly,
Disappears in my crazy years.
As a fervent zapp rises up howl,
My sad tale in the night skies ever.
All my life's nowadays burned and told by,
My first love only comes in my mind,
As a treasury casket is bounded,
Tied crosswise with a tape, red as blood.
And in silent room under the icon lamp,
I'm crooking and pining by insult,
The blue ghost of my love, dead entirely,
Through a cencer of dreams shows eye...
23 March 1910
Все, что память... - перевод П. Блока
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116021207800
Свидетельство о публикации №116021207800
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