In the empty, transparent hall of a garden
I go rustling with the dry leaves:
What a strange pleasure
To trample the past by my own foot!
How sweet to recollect everything
That was appreciated by me so little formerly!
What great there are pain and grief in hope
To greet the spring at least once more!
My passion stays in the high tower
There is no access to this castle.
I wouldn’t say no to visit my dearest one
At her place quite unexpectedly
As soon as the night will fall.
I know, in the castle there is a door-keeper,
But he will not hold up a hero.
It will be done for with him in no jiffy
Before he is able to say knife.
I will enter on the porch daringly and quickly,
If only the night were murky and dark,
Her hateful puny husband will not block my way.
I will take him for a ride.
The desperado will come
Into his sweetheart’s room:
Hail, beautiful widow!
Let’s escape at ease from
The dungeon to the forest land!
Don’t worry and take on trust -
You will not see rainy days with me!
The Trees In Captivity
Our small house had been covered with snow. The spring solar rays on the roof had created something like a mountain glacier from underneath which as though it were the true glacier the water streamed in abundance, and for that reason the glacier receded. From the warm roof a trickle falls on the icy icicle hanging in a shade in the cold. Because of it water having touched an icicle is freezing, and so the icicle grows on the top in thickness in the morning. When having turned round the roof the sun had glanced on the icicle, I also had looked at it out of a small window: the frost had disappeared, and a stream out of the glacier, having run down the icicle, began to fall by the golden drops downwards.
Long before the evening it began to freeze in the shade outside and though on the roof the glacier kept receding and also the rill kept on streaming down the icicle, nevertheless some droplets on the tip of the icicle began to freeze, and the further, the more. The icicle by the evening began to grow in length. Next day the sun shines again, and the glacier recedes again, and the icicle grows in thickness in the morning, and in length in the evening: every day it becomes more thicker and more longer.
The spring sun shone in the sky, but the woods were still as in the winter full of snow. Have you ever been in a snowy winter in the young forest? Certainly you haven’t: it is impossible even to enter there. There, where in the summer you went on a wide path, now through this path in the one and the other side the bent trees lie so low that if only a hare can run under them.
Here is what actually happened with the trees: the little birch-tree’s top as if with the palm of hand was picking up the falling snow, and because of it such a snow clod had grown that the top of the tree began to bend. In the thaw it snowed again and the falling snow was sticking to that clod. The top with the huge clod kept on bending and at last had plunged into the snow lying on the ground and had frozen to in that position till the spring. Under this arch all the winter long there passed animals and people occasionally on skis.
But I know one simple magical trick so that to go on such path, without bending my back. I break off for myself a good weighty stick, and I only have to knock properly on the inclined tree as snow falls downwards, the tree jumps upwards and lets me pass. In such manner slowly but surely I go setting free with the magical blows a lot of trees.
It thaws in the fields, but in the woods still snow lies untouched in the form of the compact pads on the earth and on the branches of trees as well as the trees are there in the captivity of snow. Only their bent down to the ground slim trunks have frozen to and wait for their freeing at any moment. This instant which is happiest for the motionless trees and the terrible one for the animals and the birds is coming at last.
The rush time has come, snow imperceptibly melts, and here in the absolute silence of forest as if by itself the fur-tree’s bough moves and begins to shake. But it is just under this fur-tree the covered with its large boughs a hare is sleeping. In fear it gets up listening…
The hare is scared, and here right in front of its nose the second bough as well as the third one moves and having been got free from snow jumps up. The hare leaps back, takes a run, sits again like a little column in listening: whence comes a trouble?, where is to run?
And only it has risen on its hind legs, only it has looked back, as all of a sudden the birch-tree jumps upwards before its nose, straightens and shakes, and then the fur-tree waves with its bough as if by the hand quite unexpectedly right beside it!
Here’s a go: branches and boughs everywhere jump being released from the snow captivity, the whole forest moves in the vicinity, the whole forest has been aroused.
The mad hare keeps rushing about, also the every sort of animal rouses, and the every kind of bird flies away from the woods.
Filleman went to the river,
To the most beautiful linden.
There he wished to play his golden harp,
Because runes promised him a good luck.
Filleman bypassed a watercourse,
He could skillfully play his golden harp.
He played it so gently, he played it so dexterously,
That the birds calmed down in the trees’ green crowns.
He played it tenderly, he played it loudly,
So that to release Magnhild out of the troll’s hands.
The troll out of the depths of lake has risen,
It rumbled in mountains and roared in clouds.
Filleman has broken down the harp with might and main,
Also has taken away in this way from the troll its force and its power .
I will give you a great experience of knowledge and truth!
You have been searching them
For all your life both with your heart and your mind
And have erected on them a fanciful building.
Although the building is fairly beautiful,
But it is so incredible fragile!
I will explain to you how much you’ve mistaken;
I will prove sensibly and precisely
That during all your life you called
The mean calculation by name friendship,
By love – the silly excitement of blood,
By science – the horde of incoherent thoughts,
By freedom – the pledge of enslavement,
Also the windbags’ changeable views
And the treacherous honor of slander by glory…
The cowberries ripen,
Days has become colder,
And from the bird’s cry
Sadness has settled in my heart.
The feathered friends in flocks fly away
Over southern seas.
The trees show off
In their multi-colored garments.
The sun laughs less often,
There is no flavor in flowers.
Soon the Autumn is to wake up
And will begin to weep half asleep.
All Is Illusive
All is illusive
In this turbulent world,
There is only an instant,
Take hold of it.
There is only an instant
Between the past and the future,
It is it that is called existence.
The eternal rest
Hardly will be pleasant to heart,
The eternal rest for the ancient pyramids is merely suitable.
Whereas for a star,
That has come from the heavens and now is falling,
There is only an instant,
The dizzy and dazzling one.
Let this world
Flies afar through the centuries,
But not always
I’m going the same road with it.
What is dear for me?
What on earth I put at risk in the world?
It’s only an instant,
it’s mere an instant.
What there is in the store for me?
Is it luck or misfortune?
There is only an instant,
Take hold of it.
There is only an instant
Between the past and the future,
It is it that is called earthly life.
Follow The Wise!
You despond about the days that have transiently went
Calling them with both the sad thought and the hopeless melancholy –
Let the present will be your consolatory genius!
Trusting in it spend your day with serenity!
Easy as flight the swift days of life rush!
As soon as we reach the complete maturity of our reason,
As soon as we see the worthy purpose before our eyes –
All for us has already passed by, as the vision of dream,
The phantom of imagination representing now to a glance
The meadow spotted with flowers, the hill and the dale cheerful,
Now to the grief flying by in the gloomy attires
The wild steppe, the dense woods and the chasms awful.
Follow the wise! Let your soul be always invariable,
Accept all that the destiny sends you and do not complain!
It’s madness to reject with the grief fruitless
About the blessing lost forever that the minute offers for us!
The Man Has Started To Speak
A Man started to speak
And the beginning was the fright
Of unintentionally crackled twig…
And the absolutely inconceivable sound
Had stired then in the Person’s soul…
The Man has started to speak!.
However being not in the force
To struggle with temptation,
Had shown clearly the great speed
In mastering by this craft.
He thought out a lot of themes
Reveling in a minute revenge.
If only to speak! But about what and what for -
It seemed to the Man of the little importance.
He ceased to speak at night, but all the same
He kept on waking up in sweat on mornings,
He was frightened of the silent minutes
And the completely empty pauses.
But once there was a trouble…
He had fallen in love and shut up in delight.
Then he was struck dumb
And the mystery of cleansing happened.
He had become silent and
His forehead got smoothed,
Also he had felt with pain that instant when
One fears terribly for the first word that should be spoken.
My Soul’s Strings
The wind has brought from apart
A vague hint of the spring songs,
Somewhere a scrap of the deep sky
Has been lightly opened.
In this azure without bottom,
In the twilight of the close spring
The winter storms whined,
The star dreams soared.
In the darknes my soul’s strings
Heart-rendingly cried.
The wind has brought from apart
Your sonorous tunes.
The veil of clouds has hidden all and every ray of the golden sun and the wall has suddenly grown between us. The night will pass, the clear morning will come, I trust the happiness waits for you together with me. The night will pass, the rainy time will pass by, the sun will ascend… The sun will rise. Birds have ceased to tweet. The stars’ light has touched roofs. Just hear my voice through the blizzards and griefs.
RuElSoft http://bit.ly/wui8X3
It remains half an hour before the flight.
The aircraft is almost at a runway!
Also time flys
Fast as never before
On these electronic clock.
That’s all what there was!
You can name it as you like!
For someone – it is just
A good weather for flying,
But after all it is farewell to love.
I and you cannot restore again that we formerly had!
It is a pity that we missed our chance to tell each other
Something very important.
The liner has run along the airdrome, as if it were our destiny,
In result a light strip was remained in the sky.
It’s as pure as you in my memory.
That’s all what there was!
You can name it as you like!
For someone – it is just
A good weather for flying,
But after all it is farewell to love.
Instants
Do not think of seconds haughtily.
There will come time, you will understand, probably, –
Instants whistle as bullets beside one’s temple.
Every instant has its reason, its bells, its marks.
Instants distribute – to whom a shame,
To whom infamy, and to whom immortality.
Instants are pressed in a year,
Instants are pressed in centuries.
Well, I do not understand sometimes,
Where there is the first instant,
Where there is the last one.
Of tiny instants the rain is weaved.
Ordinary water flows from heavens.
At times, almost for a half-life you wait,
When your instant will come.
It will come as big as a drink of fresh
Water during the heat summer.
But in general,
It is necessary just to remember one’s duty
From the first instant to the last one.
Do not think of seconds haughtily.
There will come time, you will understand, probably, –
Instants whistle as bullets beside one’s temple.
The rain waves as a dense veil,
The droplets of rain knock at your window.
Today your love has passed by,
But tomorrow you will meet it yet!
It is not necessary to grieve –
There is all life ahead, –
Just hope and wait!
The footpath in the wood has begun to smell in the spring,
The earth has been languid owing to sunny days.
Today your dream has passed by,
But tomorrow you will meet it yet.
As dew in the field,
As a star in the sky,
As the cheerful surf in the boundless sea,
For ever let will be with you
Both a big dream
And a great love!
There’s nothing better on the earth
Than to wander with one’s chums around the world.
Who are friendly those are not afraid of trouble,
Any roads are cherished for us.
We will not forget our mission:
We give laughter and pleasure to people.
For us the tempting turrets of castle
Will replace never freedom.
Our carpet is a flower glade,
Our walls are the high pines,
Our roof are the azure skies,
Our happiness is in living such fate.
