Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "NEAR"

1. * * * (He was jealous, fearful and tender)

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2. * * * (In Kievan temple of the divine wisdom)

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3. * * * (My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker)

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4. * * * (To say goodbye we don't know)

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5. July 1914

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1. * * * (He was jealous, fearful and tender)

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Часть текста: He was jealous, fearful and tender, He loved me like God's only light, And that she not sing of the past times He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" And I buried the joyous songbird Behind a round well near a tree. I promised that I would not mourn her. But my heart turned to stone without choice, And it seems to me that everywhere And always I'll hear her sweet voice.

2. * * * (In Kievan temple of the divine wisdom)

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Часть текста: In Kievan temple of the divine wisdom Falling to my knees, I did before thee vow That your way will be my way Wherever it will go. Thus heard Yaroslav in a white coffin And angels made of gold in his stead. Like pigeons, weave the simple words And now near the sunny heads. And if I get weak, I dream of an icon And there are ten steps on it, all are blessed. In menacing voice of the Sofian ringing I hear the sound of your unrest.

3. * * * (My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker)

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Часть текста: My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker. It has become still better without love, The sky is tall, the mountain wind is blowing My thoughts are sinless to true God above. The sleeplessness has gone to other places, I do not on grey ashes count my sorrow, And the skewed arrow of the clock face Does not look to me like a deadly arrow. How past over the heart is losing power! Freedom is near. I will forgive all yet, Watching, as ray of sun runs up and down The springtime vine that with spring rain is wet.

4. * * * (To say goodbye we don't know)

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Часть текста: To say goodbye we don't know - It's already nearing night, We are walking shoulder to shoulder, You are pensive and I am quiet We'll walk into church, we'll witness The singing, the wedding, the cross, Not seeing each other, we'll exit.. Why are things not working for us? Or we'll sit on the pressed-down snow In a cemetery, lightly sigh, And you with your stick paint the palace Where together we'll be for all time.

5. July 1914

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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."