Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "EVEN"

1. * * * (Whether to look for you on earth)

Входимость: 2. Размер: 2кб.

2. * * * (The spring was still mysteriously swooning)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

3. July 1914

Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

4. * * * (How often did I curse)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

5. * * * (Not mystery and not sadness)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

6. * * * (When with a strong but tired hand)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

1. * * * (Whether to look for you on earth)

Входимость: 2. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: Whether to look for you on earth - I don't know if you're dead or you live - Or about you in the evening I should for you, departed, grieve. All is for you: and the daily prayer And the sleeplessness' swooning flame And the white flock of my poems And my eyes' blue violent flame. No one was dearer to me, no one, No one left me this bereft, Not even he who betrayed me to torment, Not even he who caressed, then left.

2. * * * (The spring was still mysteriously swooning)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: The spring was still mysteriously swooning, Across the hills wandered transparent wind And the deep lake was growing blue among us - A temple forged and kept not by mankind. You were affrighted of our first encounter, And prayed already for the second one, And now today once more is the hot evening - How low over the mountain dropped the sun.. You aren't with me, but this is not a parting: For me triumphant news is in each moment. I know that you can't even pronounce a word For so complete within you is the torment.

3. July 1914

Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

Часть текста: I Smells like burning. For four weeks now The dry ground on the swamplands bakes. Today even birds did not sing songs And the aspen-tree does not shake. Sun has stopped in divine displeasure Easter rain did not pelt fields hard. A one-legged passerby came here And alone said in the yard: "Awful times near. For freshly dug graves There will be not be enough place soon. Expect pest, expect plague, expect coward, And eclipses of Sun and Moon. But the enemy won't get to divide Our lands for his fun: Holy Mary will spread on her own Over great sorrows a white gown" II From the burning forests is flying Sweet smell of the evergreens. Over children soldiers' wives are moaning Cry of widows through village rings. Not in vain were the prayers rendered, The earth was thirsty for rain: The stomped-over fields with red dampness Were covered and covered remain. Low, low is the empty heaven, And quiet is the praying one's voice: "They will wound your most holy body And cast dice about your acts of choice."

4. * * * (How often did I curse)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: How often did I curse This sky, this earth as well, The slowly waving arms Of this ancient windmill. In a wing there lies a dead man, Straight and grayhaired, on a bench, As he did three years ago. Thus the mice whet with their teeth Books, thus the stearine candle Leans its flame to the left. And the odious tambourine From the Nizhny Novgorod Sings an uningenious song Of my bitter happiness. And the brightly painted Dahlias stood straight Along silver road. Where are snails and wormwood. Thus it was: Incarceration Became second country, And the first I cannot dare Recollect even in prayer.

5. * * * (Not mystery and not sadness)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: Not mystery and not sadness, Not the wise will of fate - These meetings have always given Impression of fight and hate. And I, having guessed your coming's Minute and circumstance, In the bent arms the slightly Tingling feeling did sense. And with dry fingers I mangled The colorful tablecloth.. I understood even then How small was this earth.

6. * * * (When with a strong but tired hand)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

Часть текста: When with a strong but tired hand In dreary capital of nation Upon the whiteness of the page I did record my recantations, And wind into the window round Poured in a wet and silent stream The sky was burning, burning bright With smoky dawn, it so did seem. I did not look at the Nieva, The dawn-drenched granite did not view, And it appeared that that I, awake, my Unforgettable, saw you.. But then the unexpected night Covered the before-autumn town, That, so as to assist my flight, The ashen shadows melted down. I only took with me the cross, That you had given on day of treason That wormwood steppe should be in bloom And winds, like sirens, sing in season. And here upon an empty wall He keeps me from the broodings dour And I don't fear to recall Anything - even the final hour.