Огонь и воздух... — таинство стихий... —
Любовь и мысль в потоке бытия...
Скользя сквозь время, мысли и стихи
К тебе стремятся, где бы ни был я...
И растворившись мыслью в тишине,
Пытаясь нежно страсти затушить,
Тону душой в печальном, вечном сне... —
Мне без стихий пространственных не жить...
Лишь свет посланий возродит во мне
Огонь надежды, веру воскресив...
И зазвучит в небесной вышине
Святой любви божественный мотив...
Приняв твой дар, взлетаю до небес!..
А возвратив — грущу... и жду чудес...
The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again and straight grow sad.
Fire and air ... - The sacrament of the elements ... -
Love and thought in the stream of being ...
Sliding through time, thoughts and poems
They strive for you, wherever I ...
And dissolved the thought in silence,
Trying to detect gently passion
Tone soul in the sad, eternal dream ... -
I do not live any elements ...
Only light of messages will revive in me
Fire hopes, faith resurrect ...
And sound in heavenly embroidery
Holy Love Divine Motive ...
Having accepted your gift, take off to heaven! ..
And returning - sad ... and waiting for miracles ...
The Other Two, Slight Air and Purging Fire,
ARE BOTH WHEEVER I ABIDE;
The First My Desire, The First My Desire
These Present-Absent with Swift Motion Slide.
FOR WHEN THESE QUICKER ELEMENTS ARE GONE
In Tender Embassy of Love To thee
My Life, Being Made Of Four, with Two Alone
SINKS DOWN TO DEATH, OPPRESS'D WITH Melancholy;
Until Life's Composition Be Recured
By Those Swift Messengers Return'D from thee
WHO EVEN But Now Come Back Again, Assured
Of Thy Fair Health, Recounting IT to Me:
This Told, I Joy; But Then No Longer Glad
I Send Them Back Again and Straight Grow Sad.
