A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

Tonight you will be coming soon,
and I will understand
why all alone beneath the moon
it feels so strange to stand.

Pale, you will check your step, and throw

away your cape and hood,
does not the full moon likewise flow
above the somber wood?

And by the magic of her ways

and by yourself spell-bound,
I will be happy — with my days,
the dark and stillness round.

So in the woods a beast which smells

that spring is coming soon
the rustling of the hours tells
and goes to watch the moon.

And softly to the glen he creeps

to wake the dreams of night,
and with the moon's own movement keeps
his step, that's ever light.

Like he, I will be speechless too,

will look and lose my strength,
and guard the solem n seal of you,
o, Night, throughout your length!

There will be m any shining moons

within myself and near,
and pallid shores of ancient dunes,
alluring, will appear.

And from the darkness which unfurls

the ocean green that roars
will bring me flowers, corals, pearls
the gifts of distant shores.

And there will be a thousand sighs

of creatures dead and far,
and somber sleep of silent eyes,
and wine from every star.

Then you will go, and I will stay

to hear the moon's last tune,
and see the dawning of the sky
above the pallid dune.

[1930s]

602. Николай Гумилев(1886–1921). Покорность

Only the tired are worthy of praying to God,
only by lovers the meadows of spring may be trod!

Soft is the sorrow on earth and the stars in the sky,

softly resounded a «yes» — in the darkness to die.

This is submissiveness! Come and bend over me now,

pale maid, wearing the black mourning-veil on your brow!

Sad is my land, in the wilds of the marshes it lies,

no land could ever be fairer for sorrowful eyes.

Look at the brownish buds and the damp-grown glen,

they are what makes me renounce the pleasures of men.

Am I in love? Or just weary as never before?

Oh, it is good that my eyes do not shine any more!

Calmly I look at the wind-blown grass of the plain,

calmly I hear in the marshes a bittern complain.

[1930s]

603. Николай Гумилев(1886–1921). Читатель книг

Reader of books, I also tried to find
my heaven in the knowledge which obeys,
I always loved them, — strange ways that wind
where neither hope nor reminiscence stays.

Into new chapters eagerly to roam,

upon the stream of many lines to ride,
and watch the growing waves and splashing foam,
and listen to the roar of rising tide!

But after dusk.. how horrible the shade

behind the shelf and icon in the night,
and, like a moon that shimmers on the glade,
the pendulum — immovable and bright!

[1930s]