Storm has set the heavens scowling, Whirling gusty blizzards wild, Now they are like beasts a-growling, Now a-wailing like a child; Now along the brittle thatches They will scud with rustling sound, Now against the window latches Like belated wanderers pound. Our frail hut is glum and sullen, Dim with twilight and with care. Why, dear granny, have you fallen…
A swarthy young boy lolled down pathways By himself at the edge of the lake. For a hundred long years we have cherished The slight rustle his far footsteps make. The thick, prickly fir-needles pile up Above the low stumps of each tree… Here’s his three-cornered hat and a dog-eared Volume of verse by Parny. 1911. Translation by Vladimir Markov…
One had Aglaya by attraction Of raven curls and martial stance, One for his money (no objection), A third because he was from France, Cleon by dint of being clever, Damis for tender songs galore; But, my Aglaya, say, whatever Did your own husband have you for? 1822. Translation by Walter Arndt.
