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Борис Леонидович Пастернак/Boris Pasternak
| Winter night The blizzards covered up the earth And roamed uncurbed The candle burned upon the desk The candle burned As in the summer, moths are drawn Towards the flame The pale snowflakes flown Unto the pane Upon the glass, bright snowy rings And streaks were churned The candle burned upon the desk The candle burned On the illumined ceiling Shadows swayed A cross of arms, a cross of legs A cross of fate Two boots fell down on the floor With crashing sound And from the crown tears of wax Dripped on the gown And nothing in the snowy haze Could be discerned The candle burned upon the desk The candle burned A gentle draft blew from the corner Flame in temptation, Would raise two wings into a cross As if an angel It snowed a lot all through the month This frequently occurred The candle burned upon the desk The candle burned translated by Andrey Kneller Hamlet The clamor ceased. I walked onto the stage. While leaning on a jamb, through cheers, I'm grasping in the echo's distant range What will occur during my years. The twilight of the night has gathered Like thousands of binoculars on me. If so you're willing, Father, I beg you, take this cup from me. I love your plan, so firm and stubborn And I agree to play this role. But as of now, there's another drama. This time, expel me, I implore. But, the predestined plot proceeds. I cannot alter the direction of my path. I am alone, all sinks in phariseeism. To live a life--is not an easy task. | |
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