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PARIS
And I came to you, a city of many faces,
To the expanses of squares, to open palaces;
I loved your noise, all the street shouts:
The tune of newsmen, whips and bells;
I fell in love with your world, like a dream, a diverse
And always breathing, painfully alive ...
Your element is life, only in it are your temptations,
You have died on me - and I am yours forever.
Sometimes you seemed to me ruthlessly old,
But he often rejoiced like a fast-moving child.
In the evening, a quiet hour along the blown boulevards
Between the windows of the brilliant flow of people Katya.
Lanterns shrouded in yarn
Chestnut royal; Threw down their call
Nighttime advertisement lights; Crews were flying,
And the dull, human tide grew and grew rapidly.
And these thousands and thousands of passers-by
I was aware of the wave that is flowing into the new age.
And greedily I watched the flow of free rivers,
Sam - a droplet on the bottom in their stony boxes,
And you stood in the darkness - mighty, like fate,
Colossus, pressing countless rati ...
But the peanies of my insane brethren did not slacken,
And the City did not struggle with the people ...
When, tired of visions and light,
I was looking for a shelter - I was tempted by a cathedral,
Long celebrated by the solemn poet ...
How sweet my sore eyes dreamed,
How sweet were the patterned glasses,
Sockets in the sky - the interlacing of stars and faces.
Behind them, vanity involuntarily faded, faded,
Before eternity the soul prostrated itself ...
Forgetting the melody of the psalms and the quiet moaning of the organ,
I saw only light, a holy kaleidoscope,
Only colors and colors shone from the fog ...
Was there il life? And a cradle? And the coffin?
And the mirage began to rotate around, replacing
All the colors of the rainbow, all the reflections of the lights.
And the colors were the world. In the deep chasm of paradise
Not these images, centuries, without tire,
Caress the gaze of jubilant shadows?
And there, beyond the Seine, there was still a sacred shelter.
A circular temple and in the abyss of a sarcophagus,
Where, separated from all, the emperor is asleep prisoner, -
Our stern prophet and our fatal enemy!
Through the windows, there is light, then golden, then blue,
A dim, weak light, mysterious, like darkness.
Transparent banner he trembles over the shrine,
Fusing with the wings of the eagle's wing!
The longer you stand here, the all around mute,
But in eerie silence grows silent thunder,
And everything comes to life, which was a childish fable,
And with the impossibility of standing face to face!
He was in command of the sailors for a century,
He told millions of souls their death;
And suddenly clenched him with a wall of prison cliffs,
Like a roof, lay a melted firmament.
He fell asleep in the palace - and he opened his gaze in the dungeon,
And he died, not realizing if a terrible dream had passed ...
Or he did not pass? Do you dream that in a tomb?
And suddenly you will come here - with a baton and in purple scarf -
And before you we fall prostrate, Napoleon!
And these extremes! - all the rampage of our life,
The medieval world, the greatness of terrible days, -
Paris, you have united in your holy cup,
Preparing a terrible poison from tsetsen and ideas!
You are humanity - Malström. In vain people
Dream of your influences slip away!
You must mix everything in a monstrous vessel.
His carving flutters, the turbidity is invisibly melting.
You take all the power in the gears,
And you mell the souls of all, and you light the dust.
And the tears of eternity sprinkle it like dew ...
And you stand, Paris, like a mill, for centuries!
In you opportunities, in you there is a spirit of movement,
You are loosely flattered, and the wings of the wings are shade
Lies down and now on our generations,
And to become a great day here can every day.
The dams of the barricades have dug you safely into the walls,
And he closed the stream of revolting times,
And crushed it in beautiful foam spray.
He went on running, broken, transformed.
Invaded the barbarians in your compressed circle, crushed
The cherished corners of your holy palaces,
But the sword over the mystery of the eternal was not powerful:
As a phoenix, you took off from the smoke, alive and new.
Paris is not all in houses, and in that il in this face:
He is part of the story, idea, fairy tale, delirium.
Your immortality you understood, oh great,
And the delirium of your disappearance - no!
