Стихотворения

And now there goes through Nature's veins
a liquid shiver, swift and sweet,
as though the waters of a spring
had come to touch her burning feet.

<1944>

463. TEARS{*}

O lacrimarum fons.

Gray.

Friends, with my eyes I love caressing
the purple of a flashing wine,
nor do I scorn the fragrant ruby
of clustered fruit that leaves entwine.

I love to look around when Nature
seems as it were immersed in May;
when bathed in redolence she slumbers
and smiles throughout her dreamy day.

I love to see the face of Beauty
flushed with the air of Spring that seeks
softly to toy with silky ringlets
or deepen dimples on her cheeks.

But all voluptuous enchantments,
lush grapes, rich roses — what are you
compared to tears, that sacred fountain,
that paradisal morning dew!

Therein divinest beams are mirrored,
and in those burning drops they break,
and breaking — what resplendent rainbows
upon Life's thunderclouds they make!

As soon as mortal eyes thou touchest,
with wings, Angel of Tears, the world
dissolves in mist, and lo! a skyful
of Seraph faces is unfurled.

<Осень 1944>

464. THE JOURNEY{*}

Soft sand comes up to our horses' shanks
   as we ride in the darkening day
and the shadows of pines have closed their ranks:
   all is shadow along our way.

In denser masses the black trees rise.
   what a comfortless neighborhood!
Grim night like a beast with a hundred eyes
   peers out of the underwood.

<Осень 1944>

465. SILENTIUM!{*}

Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal
the way you dream, the things you feel.
Deep in your spirit let them rise
akin to stars in crystal skies
that set before the night is blurred:
delight in them and speak no word.

How can a heart expression find?
How should another know your mind?
Will he discern what quickens you?
A thought once uttered is untrue.
Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred:
drink at the source and speak no word.

Live in your inner self alone
within your soul a world has grown,