I do not regret, complain, or weep,
All passes, like smoke off the white apple trees.
Autumn’s gold has me in its withering grip.
I shall never be young again.
My heart has felt the chill,
It no longer beats as it once did.
The birch woods cotton print
No more tempts me to roam barefoot.
Spirit of wandering, less and less
Do you stir my lips’ flame.
Oh, my lost freshness, storminess
Of eye, passion’s flood time.
Oh life, do my desires
Grow tamer, or was it all a dream?
As though, in spring’s echoing early hours,
I had galloped by on a pink steed.
We are all mortal. Silently
The maples spill the copper of their leaves.
May you be blessed for evermore
That you came— to flourish and to die.
Through virgin snow I roam,
Fresh lilies fill my heart.
The dusk, to guide me home,
Has lit a candle-star.
Light? Dark? I cannot say.
Was that the breeze? A cock?
Has winter come? Or maybe
Swans in the meadows flock?
How smooth the snow, how white!
Frost tingling warmth imparts.
I’d love to clasp the bright
Bare birch-breasts to my heart!
Dark thickets! But all round
Clear snow fields cheer the eyes.
I’d love to fold arms round
The willow’s timber thighs.
Stars in the firmament, glittering splendidly,
What is the secret you guard and withhold from us?
Stars deeply treasuring thoughts of profundity,
What is the charm that you exercise over us?
Stars bright and plentiful, crowding the Universe,
What makes you beautiful, what makes you powerful?
How do you prompt in us, stars bright and numerous,
А curiosity so insurmountable?
Why do you seem to be, when you’re so luminous,
Heavenward luring us, fondly embracing us?
Kindly you gaze on us, cheering and soothing us,
Stars up in heaven there, so faraway from us!