Through a grey smoke from bound to another one,
A scarlet light
Calls, calls all to the Paradise,
But Paradise is - out.
And what about in this darkness, red-grey, crazy
The bells toll -
What about they toll with a beleif irrealizable?
The darkness - is the darkess whole.
What theme does quarrel with a darkness of weekdays
That idle ring?
So seems more irony and wakeless
My deadly dream.
30 april 1912
Сквозь серый дым... - пер. А. Блока
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116122508408
Свидетельство о публикации №116122508408
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