Не жалею, не зову, не плачу,

Всё пройдёт, как с белых яблонь дым.

Увяданья золотом охваченный,

Я не буду больше молодым.
 

Ты теперь не так уж будешь биться,

Сердце, тронутое холодком,

И страна берёзового ситца

Не заманит шляться босиком.
 

Дух бродяжий, ты всё реже, реже

Расшевеливаешь пламень уст.

О моя утраченная свежесть,

Буйство глаз и половодье чувств.
 

Я теперь скупее стал в желаньях,

Жизнь моя, иль ты приснилась мне?

Словно я весенней гулкой ранью

Проскакал на розовом коне.
 

Все мы, все мы в этом мире тленны,

Тихо льётся с клёнов листьев медь…

Будь же ты вовек благословенно,

Что пришло процвесть и умереть.

1921
 

Перевод Даниэля Вайсборта
 
I do not regret, complain, or weep,

All passes, like smoke off the white apple trees.

Autumn’s gold has me in its withering grip.

I shall never be young again.
 

My heart has felt the chill,

It no longer beats as it once did.

The birch woods cotton print

No more tempts me to roam barefoot.
 

Spirit of wandering, less and less

Do you stir my lips’ flame.

Oh, my lost freshness, storminess

Of eye, passion’s flood time.
 

Oh life, do my desires

Grow tamer, or was it all a dream?

As though, in spring’s echoing early hours,

I had galloped by on a pink steed.
 

We are all mortal. Silently

The maples spill the copper of their leaves.

May you be blessed for evermore

That you came—to flourish and to die.
 

Перевод Кристины Гриненко
 
No regrets, no cries, no pain will ever

Touch my heart like blossoms touch a tree

Withering with autumn, I will never

Be the young man that I used to be
 

You, my heart, are slowing down already

As you’re freezing inch by inch inside

Barefooted, wild me — how upsetting! —

Won’t be running in the countryside
 

Wanderlust! my passion and my nature,

You don’t make me tremble with delight

Like you used to. Now I lost my features

Laughing eyes and feelings running wild
 

I don’t feel like having plans, desires

Did I have a life or did I dream?

I was merely chasing early sunrise

Rapid ride at dawn, that’s what it seemed.
 

We are mortal, we were born to perish

Copper leaves are falling with no sound

Once it came to blossom, to be cherished —

Blessed, returning to the silent ground.
 

Перевод Алека Вагапова
 
I do not regret, and I do not shed tears,

All, like haze off apple-trees, must pass.

Turning gold, I’m fading, it appears,

I will not be young again, alas.
 

Having got to know the touch of coolness

I will not feel, as before, so good.

And the land of birch trees, — oh my goodness!-

Cannot make me wander barefoot.
 

Vagrant’s spirit! You do not so often

Stir the fire of my lips these days.

Oh my freshness, that begins to soften!

Oh my lost emotions, vehement gaze!
 

Presently I do not feel a yearning,

Oh, my life! Have I been sleeping fast?

Well, it feels like early in the morning

On a rosy horse I’ve galloped past.
 

We are all to perish, hoping for some favour,

Copper leaves flow slowly down and sway…

May you be redeemed and blessed for ever,

You who came to bloom and pass away…
 

No regret I feel, no pain, no sorrow,

Blossom blows away, a song is sung.

Overcome by autumn gold, tomorrow

I myself shall be no longer young.
 

You’ll not throb, heart, as before, but tremble,

Feeling chills that you have not yet known.

In bare feet you shall no more be tempted

Through the birch-print countryside to roam.
 

Roving spirit, ever now less often

Do you rouse a flame upon my lips.

Freshness I have lost, keen looks forgotten,

Feelings running at full flood I miss.
 

I’m austerer now in my desiring.

Life, were you real, or of fancy born?

It’s as if in spring I’ve been out riding

On a pink horse in the vibrant dawn.
 

In this world of ours we all are mortal,

Copper leaves from maples gently slide…

Ever blest was I to be accorded

Time for blossoming before I died.
 

Перевод Питера Темпеста
 
No regret I feel, no pain, no sorrow,

Blossom blows away, a song is sung.

Overcome by autumn gold, tomorrow

I myself shall be no longer young.
 

You’ll not throb, heart, as before, but tremble,

Feeling chills that you have not yet known.

In bare feet you shall no more be tempted

Through the birch-print countryside to roam.
 

Roving spirit, ever now less often

Do you rouse a flame upon my lips.

Freshness I have lost, keen looks forgotten,

Feelings running at full flood I miss.
 

I’m austerer now in my desiring.

Life, were you real, or of fancy born?

It’s as if in spring I’ve been out riding

On a pink horse in the vibrant dawn.
 

In this world of ours we all are mortal,

Copper leaves from maples gently slide…

Ever blest was I to be accorded

Time for blossoming before I died.
 

Перевод Антона Яковлева
 
I don’t regret, I don’t call, I don’t cry.

All will pass like smoke from white apple trees.

Overcome with the gold of wilting,

I won’t be young anymore.
 

Touched with cold, you will no longer

Beat in the same way, heart,

And the land of birch chintz

Won’t tempt me to gallivant barefoot.
 

Nomadic spirit! Less and less

You stoke the flame of my lips.

O my lost freshness,

Mayhem of eyes and deluge of feelings!
 

These days I’m stingier in my desires,

My life — or did I dream you?

I might as well have galloped on a pink steed

On a sonorous early spring morning.
 

All of us, all of us will perish;

Quietly, copper leaves pour from maples…

Therefore, blessed be, forever,

Everything that’s come to bloom and to die.
 

Перевод Джеффри Турли
 
I will not weep, regret or scold.

All things pass, like smoke from the apple wood.

Consumed now by withering’s gold,

My youth has passed away for good.
 

And you shall beat like that no more

O heart, caught in the grip of cold.

Nor will the birch-tree country lure

My bare feet wandering as of old.
 

Ah, wanderlust, rarely, rarely

You agitate my mouths’ flame now.

And oh, my squandered innocence,

The bright eye and the fevered brow!
 

A miser now with my desires,

O life, — or did I dream of you?

As if through early spring-time fires

On a pink horse I galloped through.
 

We shall all perish, and the bronze

Fades silently from maple-leaves.

Then let us feel forever blessed,

Just that we chanced to flower, and died.