Она поэту подарила
She had to poet given wholly
Младых восторгов первый сон,
A first dream of the young delights,
И мысль об ней одушевила
A thought about had brought fully
Его цевницы первый стон.
His inspiration at the nights.
Простите, игры золотые!
Oh, those gold games that there happened!
Он рощи полюбил густые,
He liked thick groves with their accent
Уединенье, тишину,
On loneliness and silence soon,
И ночь, и звезды, и луну,
And night, and stars and sure moon,
Луну, небесную лампаду,
The moon that born a hanging vigil,
Которой посвящали мы
To which devoted we not once
Прогулки средь вечерней тьмы,
Walks in the evening darkness just
И слезы, тайных мук отраду...
And tears, and torments that were fragile…
Но нынче видим только в ней
But then we saw quite just in that
Замену тусклых фонарей.
One changing of dim lamps instead.