<p>СТИХОТВОРЕНИЯ НА АНГЛИЙСКОМ, НЕ ВОШЕДШИЕ В ПРИЖИЗНЕННЫЕ СБОРНИКИ</p><p>429. REMEMBRANCE
<a l:href="#c_458"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>Like silent ships we two in darkness met, And when some day the poet's careless fame Shall breathe to you a half-forgotten name —Soul of my song, I want you to regret.For you had Love. Out of my life you tore One shining page. I want, if we must part, Remembrance pale to quiver in your heartLike moonlit foam upon a windy shore.<Ноябрь 1920><p>430. HOME
<a l:href="#c_459"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>Music of windy woods, an endless songRippling in gleaming glades of Long Ago,You follow me on tiptoe, swift and slow,Through many a dreary year.... Ah, it was wrongTo wound those gentle trees! I dream and roamO'er sun-tormented plains, from brook to brook,And thence by stone grey thundering cities. Home,My home magnificent is but a wordOn a withered page in an old, dusty book.Oh, wistful birch trees! I remember daysOf beauty: ferns; a green and golden mare;A toadstool like a giant lady bird;A fairy path; bells, tinkling bells, and sighs;Whimsical orioles; white-rimmed butterfliesFanning their velvet wings on velvet silver stems....All is dead. Who cares, who understands?Not even God.... I saw mysterious landsAnd sailed to nowhere with blue-winged wavesWhirling around me. I have roved and ravedIn southern harbours among drunken knaves,And passed by narrow streets, scented and pavedWith moonlight pale. There have I called and kissedVeiled women swaying in a rhythmic mist,But lonesome was my soul, and cold the night....And if sometimes, when in the fading lightChance friends would chatter, suddenly I grewRestless and then quite still, — Ah, it wasMusic of you, windy woods!<Ноябрь 1920><p>431. THE RUSSIAN SONG
<a l:href="#c_460"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>I dream of simple tender things:a moonlit road and tinkling bells.Ah, drearly the coachboy sings,but sadness into beauty swells;swells, and is lost in moonlight dim…the singer sighs, and then the moonfull gently passes back to himthe quivering, unfinished tune.In distant lands, on hill and plain,thus do I dream, when nights are long, —and memory gives back againthe whisper of that long-lost song.<1923>
