Пламя и тень / Flame and shadow

Driftwood

My forefathers gave me

My spirit's shaken flame,

The shape of hands, the beat of heart,

The letters of my name.

But it was my lovers,

And not my sleeping sires,

Who gave the flame its changeful

And iridescent fires;

As the driftwood burning

Learned its jeweled blaze

From the sea's blue splendor

Of colored nights and days.

Коряга

Дали предки однажды мне

Пламя трепетное – мой дух,

Буквы имени моего,

Форму рук моих, сердца стук.

Но не спящие праотцы

Огонёк расцветили мой,

А возлюбленные мои

Дали пламени свет живой.

Так коряга, воспламенясь,

Драгоценным блеснёт огнём.

Тень ночей и лазурь морей,

Солнце дня отразятся в нём.

I Have Loved Hours at Sea

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,

The fragile secret of a flower,

Music, the making of a poem

That gave me heaven for an hour;

First stars above a snowy hill,

Voices of people kindly and wise,

And the great look of love, long hidden,

Found at last in meeting eyes.

I have loved much and been loved deeply —

Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,

Leave me the darkness and the stillness,

I shall be tired and glad to go.

Города люблю, моря пение…

Города люблю, моря пение,

Тайну крохотного цветка.

Звуки песни, стиха творение

Дарят небо и облака.

Холм заснеженный, звёзд бутоны,

Мудрость в ласковых голосах,

Взгляд, мной пойманный, затаённый,

Когда тайна любви – в глазах.

Я любила, была любимой,

Но огонь так легко задуть.

Мрак, застой, проходите мимо.

Я устала, но весел путь.

August Moonrise

The sun was gone, and the moon was coming

Over the blue Connecticut hills;

The west was rosy, the east was flushed,

And over my head the swallows rushed

This way and that, with changeful wills.

I heard them twitter and watched them dart

Now together and now apart

Like dark petals blown from a tree;

The maples stamped against the west

Were black and stately and full of rest,

And the hazy orange moon grew up

And slowly changed to yellow gold

While the hills were darkened, fold on fold

To a deeper blue than a flower could hold.

Down the hill I went, and then

I forgot the ways of men,

For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool

Wakened ecstasy in me

On the brink of a shining pool.