I Love You

You and I are a whole, you and I never feel apart,

you’re with me in the morning, when I begin my way,

you are with me when rattling trams break the silence of day -

their cars just float through the mist of a day to start.

You are with me - whatever objects my glance would meet.

When the birds of our dreams fly to the unknown land -

all their ways and tracks are mine, any place I wend.

You're the birth of my inspiration, so light and sweet.

So a day does begin: like those waves come across a reef,

all pedestrians rustle at each counting-house berth;

and the monitor display blooms with its hidden wealth,

while the dance of cold flickering figures brings not relief.

We're in haste all the time - all these dealings and deeds outside,

all this vanity, drudgery, vain indecent grin...

Can't you see: the light heads now are covered with gentle-green,

and this homely apple-tree stands now as white as a bride.

In these branches snow-white deepens slow glimmering light,

and each delicate flower shines brightly with its blissful grace.

Shall a tree in its bloom ever notice one's winterly face

when the spring wind is kindly treated with sunny delight?

Petal-papillons, wind-taken swiftly, will dart in the sky,

close to that shining blue where the wind is more light in its laze;

and Tatischev will silently raise up his farewell gaze -

so the old bronze genius sagely gives us a sigh.

It's so flaming a rapture... while it's only words spoken fast -

you so easily breed them, as well as you easy resign.

But the deepest delight - it's just like an invisible mine:

you will never disclose it till you get under the crust.

But there's no need to argue - the nature of being is dark.

Mind brings you one reason and passion's the other to bring.

It pours down the rain - hark! - so sudden and loud in spring,

which so eagerly laves all the streets, leaves 'em bare and stark!

The first thunder has gone - now it's splendor that's beaming again,

and bright raindrops, like glaring bugles, give blaze everywhere.

And it's so nice along the spring parkways to stray with no care:

be amazed at the sun like a miracle down every lane.

Every pilulous raindrop hides a bright invisible world:

like a tiny light lens shows the sun, and a face, and a city.

This illusory world, so beloved, both is dreamy and gritty,

but you won't think of narrow apartments which try you to hold.

Spring is wand'ring along the lit alleys almost all night long.

Fall asleep in a tram - the whole day is so long and delighted,

it is filled with the poems of love, that's the way it is brightened.

And for all these delights any diary is worth not a song.

Roofs will cover the sun - and a city will sink in the haze.

But the spring will not pass, and the day may be simply a reason

just to whisper again how I love you: a fabulous season,

and a fabulous city of ours, so free to amaze.