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A Reader of Books

Читатель книг

As a reader of books, I yearned to come across
My quite paradise in obedient consciousness.
I loved them all, those strange expanses,
Where there are neither hopes nor memories.

To swim unflaggingly the streams of lines,
To enter eagerly a channel’s chapters
Watching the waves foam on its flood,
And listening to the swell of its incoming tide!

But at evening . . . Oh, how dreadful it is,
Night shadows behind cupboard and icon-case,
And the pendulum, frozen, like the moon
Shining above the gleaming fen!

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The road

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My sailing boat, crafted of redwood, is swift, / My flute is carved out of jasper. / / With water a stain is removed from the silk, / With wine - the worries and heartache. / / And if you're the owner of swift little boat, / The wine and a beautiful woman... / / What else ...


The moon climbs graciously the evening heavens, / And there affectionately rests her beauty. / / The evening breeze is canvassing the lakeshore, / To spread the kisses to the happy water. / / Oh, how heavenly would be a union / Of people who are destined for each other. / / Yet ...