(Перевод на английский язык: Николай Лавров)
The lie is paid, there is justification,
It was uneasy not to tell a lie
Where is the truth and where imagination
It's so hard to make out anytime
Through clear and magic dream of the Great Bear,
Through blooming branches of the apple trees,
She'll come to him, and one should find where
The only meaning in his verses is.
And he will tell us about the whole world,
How our dreamings came real things
And we are sure to trust each his word
Like an illusion, like little kids.
We'll fell the smell of the sea and karri,
The smell of extracts from distant land.
It's great to read it in avid hurry,
Without stopping until the end.
She's on the way to some unknown places.
On board a ship, the wife of someone else.
And New world, seeing first the sailors' faces,
Has no idea who'll come on their tracks.
He's ill and weakened in gloomy morning
And what will happen no one can say
He'd better take care and eternal glory
From all the Scotsmen not take away.
He is in scabs and in painful fever
Surmounting season of tropic rains
Still keeps on writing without shiver
About some colour chiefs' pride and grace.
And at the time when it was pouring down
From expectation like from box at once
Like letter 'Y' Flint's crunch fell on the ground
Together with a novel for all times.
And it cannot be another way 'cause
The writer's own troubles do become
Those very tales where all others' sorrows
Melt like ice under the April sun.
And don't prevent him from roving round
If he's deluded, don't mention it.
When he ends writing, it might be found
That all his stories come true indeed.
By night the silver yarn will be unraveled
And on the waves like threads then it will fall
After so many days that she has traveled
She'll come to him herself forgetting all.
What's sinful, and what is moral hardly
We can’t judge now but someone'll write
In list of fates but at 9 precisely
Them in that morning he will unite.