CyclopsMy sense and speech at once erasing,At you my only eye is gazing:A single eye is on my head.Had mighty fortune so intended,Had I a hundred eyes instead,By a hundred you would be attended. ***Язык и ум тер...

A beauty before a mirrorObserve the charming dear as artfully she setsThe flowers in her hair to frame her face; eye-pleasing,Plays with her ringlets, and the faithful glass reflectsThe smiling look, all proud, mischievous, and teasing...

Fruitless gift, at random handed,Life of mine: what was your aim? Else, why had some fate intended For death row to be my claim? Whose hostile and forceful willingFrom my smallness called me out,Filled my soul with eager feelin...

У поворотаС тяжелой ношею держалЯ в гору путь.У поворота я устал,Сел отдохнуть.Дай, думал, посижу чуток,Как слышу вдругПоющий в роще голосок –Дрожащий звук.Он был негромок, но так мил,Веселья полн!Я ж, п...

Don’t ask me why, amidst a celebration,Dark melancholy often shades my thought,Why my grave eye holds none but desperation, Why life’ delicious dream allures me naught;Don’t ask me why, benumbed and disenchanted, I call nobody by a...

Не забытоеЯ знаю сад, где белых лилий сонм,И ту, что в свете солнечном видна;Нежнее белой лилии она,О, и в ее очах волшебный сон!Я знаю дом, унылый и сырой,Того, кто пишет, бледен, весь в трудах,Пока с немой усталостью...

The author of this very old and beautiful (I refer to the original) Russian romance is, unfortunately, unknown to the best of my knowledge. Enjoy!Don't stir in vain the recollectionOf days bygone, of days bygone - Of past desires the resur...

Свободная птица на крыльях ветра,Теченьем подхваченная, взмывает,Крылья купает в солнечном светеИ небо бесстрашно своим называет.Но та, чей удел - узкая клетка,Сквозь прутья ярости видит редко.Подрезаны крылья и связаны лапки,...

It is obvious and simple,It is clear to everybodyThat for me you have no feeling,That I’ll never have your love.What’s the point of being drawn then, Like a magnet, to a stranger,What the point of thoughts and prayersThat I say...

Word’s brief. Age has a narrow span.Which niche then has a place for man?Where and when, in which lost holeDo roses unfold inside his soul? How quick must he be, his chance being slimTo stay numb and to sing as measured for him,To...