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Часть текста: Oblivion in Sin Oblivion in Sin All joy - in the past, irretrievable and evanescent But in the present - prosperity and despair. The heart is tired and thirsts in fire at sunset Of love and passion - its lured by freedom from care. The heart is tired of prosperitys narrow confines, Its in despair, in chains, in complete distress... Despairs to dream, and to trust, and in darkened numbness It pulses with sadness, in cast of laziness... And life charms and conjures, and with the trail Of family weekdays lures somewhere... To hearts chagrin: it fears with its betrayal To end its prosperity in sunset hour. It is empowered with motherhood and with loyalty, It fears to leave his loved ones like piteous orphans... But theres no unison, and it beats in loneliness And life passes, and it might tear the cold coffin. Oh heart, oh heart! Salvation is in your madness! While you can burn and beat, burn and keep beating! Sin braver! May do-gooder come way of mummies: In sin - oblivion! And there - no bullet or rail can reach me! Youre loved, sick heart! Youre loved, loved all out! Love in response! In greeting! Yes, love in ardor! And be at peace: Live - rightly! And vanquish doubt! Be joyful, heart: Youre young! Beat loud and harder!
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Часть текста: to Refugees Poem to Refugees In these miniature Russian colonies Those who are hiding from lawlessness Their sinful bodies and souls, Interests are so pitiful Feelings vicious and hypocritical: They seek only food and warmth. They all eat - it is only appropriate, And the warmth in our time is important too, Nobody will argue with that. But apart from the warmth and the victuals There are needs mental and spiritual, Besides breakfast and wood and coat. There is theater, symphony and poems, There are paintings, and if in Estonia There is no such delight, My compatriots, Russian terribly, Its your fault that you see things narrowly, And you lose your hearing and sight. If youll find nothing like this within this land And this village except the wheat bread, Maybe at nights we will perform Shows of music and poems, and vocalists We will give majestic performances And perhaps we will dance until dawn. Maybe well declaim aloud Gogols thought (Fess up: you did not read a lot Of his work in your life, dear friends). Maybe take something from Nekrasov And to know travels of...
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Часть текста: Love is causelessness Love is causelessness Love is a causelessness. Thoughtlessness even. To love for a reason? I love for I feel. Love is like a troika, demented and rabid, Rushing toward a ship that is leaving to sail. Where to? Does not matter. I like aimless journeys. Magnolias blooming... Wandering ice... Fly onward, my troika, in path of a snowstorm, Where my ship gets ready for watery flight. Stomp out, my dear troika, discretion and reason, Smoke with a fire, flaming, foaming and white! What for? For no reason - my heart's drunk with freedom >From reason. The ship leaves. On it Ill take flight.
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Часть текста: Envy Not Your Friend Envy Not Your Friend Envy not your friend if hes more handsome, More intelligent or wealthier than you. Let his merits and let his successes Not tear up the laces on your shoe. Move along your way without a care, Smile still broader out of his success! Maybe hell face darkness and despair And your porch will be adorned with bliss! Laugh with him, and cry with his distresses: Feel him with your heart, and for all time! Do not block your friend from his successes: Its a sin to do so! Truly, its a crime!
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Часть текста: To One Different from Others To One Different from Others Youre in no way like other women at all: You have laughter controlled and expressive, You wear dresses measured and fashionably long And you slip out from my embraces. You do not cut your hair to look upscale, Deepen brows or wear make up, You have Smirnoff, but also a nightingale Who in nature becomes his replacement, You are able to see in the sugar the salt, And in just uttered word, a full sentence. In Akhmatova you value pain without halt And in Gumilev - charm and cadence. For you, connoisseur of all kinds of verse, Sharpness of Sologubov means something, And that you and Blok never did kiss You are grieving sixth summer and counting. And in your eyes, as they are now getting well - Ocean breeze and a rye field in season. Youre in no way like other women at all, And youve become my wife for that reason.