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23 Jan. 1973

633. A.H. Плещеев (1825–1893). «Был у Христа младенца сад». Легенда

The Christ Child had a garden once, and many grew the roses there. He gave them water twice a day, so he could have a wreath to wear. And when the roses came to bloom, he called the children in, to share, bach took a flower for himself, and soon they left the garden bare. «How will you make yourself a wreath? There's not a rose on any bed!» «You have forgotten that the thorns are left for me», the Christ Child said. And so they took the thorns and laid a prickly wreath upon Him now, and scarlet were the drops of blood, instead of roses, on His brow.

1948

634. Владимир Смоленский (1901–1961). «Закрой плотнее дверь, глаза закрой…»

Close tighter every door and close your eyes, forget that you are living, think not then, and let your blindness guard you from the skies and deafness — from the noise of earthly men. Know not of the beginning and the end — and a new world before you will arise! So in his coffin does a dead man send a smile to visions hidden from our eyes.

29 June [1930]

635. Владимир Смоленский(1901–1961). «За ночами проходят дни…»

Days are passing after the nights putting out — what care they? — the lights. Dream on dream float onward and on, all alike and black every one. Ever lower the sky does grow. God, it's death approaching, I know. God, I know it's you who led me on poverty's path ahead, turned off near me all the lights of the dreams the days and the nights, so that I, in the dark around, on the empty, ice-covered ground, being sentenced, like all, to die, found nothing of which to cry.

29 June [1930]

636. Владимир Смоленский (1901–1961). «Нам снятся сны, но мы не верим им…»

We dream our dreams, but do not know that they are God’s own warnings, and believe them not. A last night’s dream, like smoke, will blow away, today will come — and it will be forgot. So with this earthly life — when death is nigh, and on the death-bed frozen falls our hand, closing the lid of our wondering eye, we never will recall or understand!

16 Sept. 1930

637. Владимир Смоленский (1901–1961).To my wife

I know not how or why, at whose behest, by what strange powers of the earth or sky, you share with me my crust of bread, and lie close to the heart that heats within my breast. In days that are inspired, as on the day of death — you are inseparably near. All else will pass, all else will disappear… I he constant shining of your eyes will stay.