Воск свечи, мерцая,
Дарит храму блик.
Сквозь лицо в морщинах
Проступает лик.
Зимнего светила
На излете луч.
Долгой дольней доле
Он подобен. Ключ
К тишине, покою –
В полосе утрат.
В недрах ветхих мельниц
Воды не шумят.
Оригинал:
The Old Woman
As a white candle
In a holy place,
So is the beauty
Of an aged face.
As the spent radiance
Of the winter sun,
So is a woman
With her travail done,
Her brood gone from her,
And her thoughts as still
As the waters
Under a ruined mill.