I still find charm in little accidental
trifles, empty little things –
say, in a novel without end or title,
or in this rose, now wilting in my hands.
I like its moiré petals, dappled
with trembling silver drops of rain –
and how I found it on the sidewalk,
and how I’ll toss it in a garbage can.
by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)
translated by Boris Dralyuk
Where’s there a name for you?
No mortal’s art has the power
to express your charm.
Nor are there lyres for you!
Songs? Not to be trusted –
the echo of a belated rumour.
If they had ears for the heart,
every one of my senses
would be a hymn to you.
I carry your life’s charm,
this pure, holy image,
like a mystery in my heart.
All I can do is love;
only eternity can speak
the love you inspire.
by Василий Андреевич Жуковский (Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky)
translated by Robert Chandler
Fun fact: Ivan Bunin, the Nobel Prize winning Russian emigre author, is related to him.