Darling boy, You are so merry, your smile is bright and clean,
Don't ask for this perfect happiness, poison for all our worlds...
You don't know, You don't know what defines this polish violin,
What secret horror hides in these initial accords.
A someone who takes her body in his imperative embrace,
Will forget a peace in soul and lose placid light in eyes;
Helly spirits like to hear these divine and regal plays,
Rage and fury beings ramble on the violinist's trace.
Always to be beating, weaving these clear strings in every sound,
Eternally frantic bow will cry, weep in time across...
And in downpour, in hail, and on white and wild ground,
And until the west is firing, and when blushing east is grows.
You'll be tire, and die away, instantly the song will worse.
In that time You cannot even lift a finger or make breathe,-
In the moment wild wolves will catch your throat by jaws,
In a bloody frenzied motion they will get up to your breast.
You'll be reason in that moment how sounds has been laugh
And blood-thirty frights ticken at your terrified eyes,
And the freezing deathly cold shackle up all in and out
And your bride will be in tears, and your friend will fall in rise.
Young boy, keep moving! There are not any treasures near here
But I see you gaily smile, your glance is like a rays...
Do it, well, posess the violin, look at twinkling eyes of fear
And be lost by glorious passing, by the violinist's death.
By Nikolay Gumilev
Translated by Serge Makedon, 16.06.2000.
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