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Sara Teasdale
(Сара Тиздэйл, 1884-1933)

American Poet, won Poetry Society Prize 1918

Come
Приходи

COME, when the pale moon like a petal
Floats in the pearly dusk of spring,
Come with arms outstretched to take me,
Come with lips pursed up to cling.

Come, for life is a frail moth flying
Caught in the web of the years that pass,
And soon we two, so warm and eager
Will be as the gray stones in the grass.

UNTIL I lose my soul and lie
Blind to the beauty of the earth,
Deaf tho' a lyric wind goes by,
Dumb in a storm of mirth;

Until my heart is quenched at length
And I have left the land of men,
Oh let me love with all my strength
Careless if I am loved again.

Dooryard Roses
У калитки

I HAVE come the selfsame path
To the selfsame door,
Years have left the roses there
Burning as before.

While I watch them in the wind
Quick the hot tears start--
Strange so frail a flame outlasts
Fire in the heart.

© 2001 Elena and Yakov Feldman