Worm авторский перевод стихотворения С. Я. Надсона

A worm, crushed by the wheel of fate,
In mortal torment I am writhing,
But still I fight, half-dead, and wait —
Before this life I'm not reciting.

She mocks me — raging all around
In roaring crowds, in speeches blazing,
In springtime flowers, life-amazing,
In birdsong, sunlight's golden ground.

She moves — so strong, so bright, so proud,
Like roaring streams when spring is breaking,
She drags me in the whirlpool, making
The whirl of good and vice so loud…

And I — with frenzied hand I tear
The hem of her majestic clothing,
I try to hold her — swearing, loathing —
With mockery and curse and prayer.

Stop! — after her I scream in pain,
In powerless rage, in desperation —
"There is no meaning in your reign,
There is no purpose in creation!"

Oh, you are empty, dull, and blind!
Slave to your passions, vice, and sorrow!
Revoltingly deaf, cruel in kind —
You see no past and no tomorrow!

But proud, magnificent and tall,
She moves the way she moved before me,
And my cry fades — no trace, no call —
The cry of one who screams before me…


I choke with anguish, bleeding slow,
Broken, deafened by the thunder —
A worm, crushed by the wheel of woe,
Among the million-headed wonder!..