On the railway after Aleksandr Blok
To Maria Pavlovna Ivanova
Under the mound, in the feral ditch
Lies and looks on, as if she’s alive,
In a colored scarf, thrown on braids just.
She’s beautiful and overly young.
Used to she walked with a dignified gait
To hear t’noise and whistle from the nearby forest.
Bypassing slowly the whole long platform,
She waited, worried, near an overhang.
Three bright eyes were approuching speedily -
Tenderer blush, and more twisted curl:
Perhaps one of the many travelers’ll
Take a closer look from the windows…
The coaches were moving their chain,
They were trembling, creaking loudly.
The yellow and blue were taciturn.
In green then somebody wept and sang
Sleepy faces were behind the dark glass.
They looked around with even glance:
Long platform,garden with faded bushes,
Her, the gendarme next to her figure ...
Just once a hussar, with a careless hand,
Leaning on the bright scarlet velvet,
Glanced over her with such a gentle smile,
Glanced - and the train rushed into distance.
So rushed her useless youth from day to day.
In empty dreams, exhausted , suffered.
Depression of iron rails of the railway
Was whistling, breaking the girl’s soul .
Yes, the heart’s been taken for a long time!
So many salutes have been given.
So many greedy glances were thrown
Into the empty eyes of the cars .
Don't ever approach with any questions.
You don't care, but she has had enough:
By love, dirtiness or heavyweight wheels.
She's cruelly crushed - everything hurts.