Today you fly on troika ringing -
A richman, a hussar, a poet.
And everybody, passing by in fear,
Are looking with a jealous at.
But life's a beaten path in real,
It's wrong and dreary inside:
Many an idle beggar's here,
They wish to win a plunder's chance...
A coachman - whether he wears a jerkin dark
With a peacock feather in a view,
Whether he'd be a poet's dream such humble -
Look at him thouroughly, don't lose...
You doze - in that weak state he cuts
Your body with a sharp blade knife,
Or on the crowdless turn he binds
You to a milepost with his cummerbund.
And in the hour of your will's treason
The only poor light of a firebug
Would twinkle to you from a distance
In darkness of a field's thick shrub.
6 August 1910
Сегодня ты... - перевод А. Блока
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116062404379
Свидетельство о публикации №116062404379
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