Ne ver moy drug, kogda v porïve gorya
Ya govoryu, shto razlyubil tebya!
V otliva chas ne ver izmene morya,
Ono k zemle vorotitsa, lyubya.

Uzh ya toskuyu, prezhney strasti polnïy,
Svoyu svobodu vnov tebe otdam.
I uzh begut obratno s shumom volnï
Izdaleka k lyubimïm beregam.

Ne ver moy drug, kogda v porïve gorya
Ya govoryu, shto razlyubil tebya!
V otliva chas ne ver izmene morya,
Ono k zemle vorotitsa, lyubya.

Alexei Tolstoy (1817-1875)

Do not believe me, my love, when overcome by sadness
I say that I no longer love you.
Do not believe that the sea is faithless when the tide ebbs,
It returns again lovingly to the land.

I am pining for you as I recall the past,
Again I will surrender myself to you,
Just as the waves flow noisily back
From afar to the shores they love.

Do not believe me, my love, when overcome by sadness
I say that I no longer love you.
Do not believe that the sea is faithless when the tide ebbs,
It returns again lovingly to the land.

English: Andrew Huth © 2009

Ni slova, o drug moy, ni vzdokha,
Mï budem s toboy molchalivï:
Ved molcha nad kamnem mogilnïm
Sklonyayutsa grustnïye i vï.

I tolko, sklonivshis, chitayut,
Kak ya, v tvoyom serdtse ustalom,
Shto bïli dni yasnovo schastya,
Shto etovo schastya ne stalo.

Ni slova, o drug moy, ni vzdokha,
Mï budem s toboy molchalivï:
Ved molcha nad kamnem mogilnïm
Sklonyayutsa grustnïye i vï.

Alexey Pleshcheyev (1825-1893)

Not a word, my friend, not a sigh:
Let us be silent together,
As silent as the weeping willows
That lean over a gravestone.

As they bow down they understand
What I too read in your heart:
That there have been days of bright happiness,
And that happiness has now gone.

Not a word, my friend, not a sigh:
Let us be silent together,
As silent as the weeping willows
That lean over a gravestone

English: Andrew Huth © 2009

Otchevo poblednela vesnoy
Pïshnotsvetnaya roza sama?
Otchevo pod zelyonoy travoy
Golubaya fialka nema?

Otchevo tak pechalno zvuchit
Pesnya ptichki, nesyas v nebesa?
Otchevo nad lugami visit
Pogrebalnïm pokrovom rosa?

Otchevo v nebe solntse s utra
Kholodno i temno, kak zimoy?
Otchevo i zemlya vsya sïra
I ugryumey mogilï samoy?

Otchevo ya i sam vse grustney
I boleznenney den otodnya?
Otchevo, o skazhi mne skorey,
Tï, pokinuv, zabïla menya?

Lev Mey (1822-1862)

Why has the glorious rose
Turned so pale in the spring?
Why is the blue violet
Silent beneath the green grass?

Why does the song of a bird
Sound so sad in the sky?
Why does the dew hang
Over the meadows like a shroud?

Why is the morning sun
So cold and sombre, as if it were winter?
Why is the whole earth so damp
And gloomier than the grave?

Why do I become sadder,
More melancholy each day?
Why—tell me quickly—
Did you go away and forget me?

English: Andrew Huth © 2009

Net, tolko tot, kto znal svidanya zhazhdu,
Poymyot, kak ya stradal i kak ya strazhdu.
Glyazhu ya vdal … net sil, tuskneyet oko …
Akh, kto menya lyubil i znal—daleko!
Akh, tolko tot, kto znal svidanya zhazhdu,
Poymyot, kak ya stradal i kak ya strazhdu.
Vsya grud gorit …
Kto znal svidanya zhazhdu,
Poymyot, kak ya stradal i kak ya strazhdu.

Lev Mey (1822-1862)

Only one who knows yearning
Can know how I have suffered, and suffer still.
I look into the distance … I have no strength, my eyes are dim …
Ah, the one who loved and knew me is so far!
Only one who knows what yearning is
Can know how I have suffered, and suffer still.
My heart is burning …
Only one who knows what yearning is
Can know how I have suffered, and suffer still.

English: Andrew Huth © 2009