SPRING
No matter how oppressive is the hand of fate,
is human deceit,
no matter how deeply they furrow our brows,
wound our hearts,
no matter how severe are the trials
to which we daily must succumb,
what can resist the breath of
and that first encounter with spring!
..........
Spring does not know us,
us, our grief, our malice ...
Her gaze shines with immortality.
There's not a wrinkle on her brow.
She obeys her own laws.
At the appropriate time she flies down,
bright, blissfully indifferent,
as befits a goddess.
..........
She scatters blossoms on the earth.
She is fresh, like the first spring.
Was there another before?
She doesn't need to know.
The sky is cloud-covered.
These clouds are her own, leaving not a trace
of the extinct life of former springs.
..........
Roses do not sign about the past,
nor do nightingales sing it.
Dawn does not shed tears
of fragrance for the past,
and terror of the ineluctable end
does not flow from trees and branches.
Their life, like the boundless ocean,
is entirely poured into the present.
..........
All the game, the sacrifice of individual life!
Come, throw off the deceit of feelings
and throw yourself lustily, omnipotently
into this life-creating ocean!
Come on, in its ethereal stream
wash your suffering breast
and in this divinely all-peaceful life
for just one moment be a guest!
SPRING (DEDICATED TO MY FRIENDS)
Love of the earth, charm of the year,
spring smells sweetly of us!
Nature is throwing a feast for creation,
a coming-together feast for its sons!
..........
The spirit of life, strength and freedom
rises, fans around us!
Joy has poured into our hearts,
like an echo of spring's celebration,
like the life-creating voice of a god!
..........
Where are you, sons of Harmony?
Come, with bold fingers
touch the slumbering strings,
warmed by the bright rays
of love, of ecstasy, of spring!
..........
Just as in full, flaming bloom,
at morning's first, young light
roses glisten and burn;
as the zephyr in its joyous flight
scatters their aroma,
so do you, life-joy, pour yourself into everything.
Singers, let's follow you!
Let our youth soar, friends,
around the bright blooms of good fortune!
..........
This feeble gift of grateful love is yours,
this simple blossom, with little aroma.
You, my mentors, will accept it with a gracious smile.
Thus does a feeble child, as a token of its love,
bring to its motherТs breast
the flower it picked in a meadow!