В огромном липовом саду... - пер. М. Цветаевой

In the linden garden, great and vast,
And innocent, and old,
I'm walking with a mandolin in the gown,
So beautiful and so long,

Breathing the freshness of the open air
And a smell of raspberries, which are ripened 'round,
And holding slightly the neck of instrument -
The mandolin, lean and old,

And having parted hair curls...
- The rustle of the silk apparel,
The bodice, deeply opened,
The skirt, with the pompous gathers. -

My steps are delicate and tired,
My slender waist as a supple rod
Is leaning over the pedestal,
Where somebody is laying on.

The fallen quiver and the arrows - are white
On such a green grass!
And my narrow heel is trampling down
The arrows, invisible to others.

And there, on hill, behind the stone fence,
Devoted to cold winter
And with a spirit of the Hellinistic grace,
Covered with time, as with the ice riza,

Alive, as one of the existing miracles, -
The house with the white twelve columns,
With a long nice terrace is seen
Over the round even pond.

Above the every column you could see
The double curls, high risen,
As brilliants there the windows,
Twelve by the number, are shining.

Of no chance - to knock in them:
There's no any shadow either
In gallery, in hall - as well;
Only the Sleeping Pond - can answer

"Oh, where are You? My tender earl?
Oh Daphnis, please remember Chloya!
And water's waving, looking for
The living - as in old time.

And it receives it, bubbling loud,
In her embraces gentle -
The living roses on her shoulder
And also on dress,

Her lips are like a rose - red,
As leave's colour - her eyes...
- But gold of my watered hair
Is much more brighter.

....
Oh, that day, all without thought,
Without any passion,
Filled with a rustle of gown of girl
At the decrepit stairs!..

2 jan 1914