Where the sunrise scarlet water
Sprinkles on the cabbage beds,
А young maple tree is sucking
At its mother’s pale green breast.
through an open door—
a piercing cry…
a frog jumps in,
Looking at the moon, which goes through the night
[dark] as pitch black jade,
[my] beloved will probably wait for me, counting:
“How many nights have passed?”
how easily it rose
and now it hesitates,
the moon in clouds…
The sun, less
fierce, shines bright in a thinner sky.
Rocked by a lulling autumn breeze,
The garden rosebushes bend rhythmically.
The air around is full of a sister’s kisses.
For the time
being, Nature has left her throne
Of irony, serenity and splendor:
Toward her perverse, rebellious subject, man,
She descends mild through the fullness of yellow air.
With the hem of
her cloak spotted by the abyss,
She deigns to wipe the sweat from our brow,
And her immortal form, her soul’s eternities,
Give our slack hasty hearts calm and strength too.
branches, their cool swaying,
The widened horizon full of indistinct
Song, even the joyous flights of birds and clouds, everything
Today consoles and sets free.—Let us think.
Somebody said when snubbed, “Is Damon so
Beautiful he doesn’t say hello?
Time will exact revenge when, bye and bye,
Grown hairy, he greets men who won’t reply.”