Author of quotes: Valery Bryusov. Page 4

You power take in all gears,
And grind the souls of all, and blowing the light ashes.
And the tears of eternity sprinkled him as the dew...
And you're right, Paris windmill, in the centuries!
You opportunities, you have the spirit of the movement,
Are you consciously inspired, and free wings shadow
And now falls on our generation
And to be a great day here every day.
Dam of the fence you're plunged boldly into the walls,
And a restless stream of time,
And shattered it into a beautiful spray of foam.
He then ran away, broken, transformed.
Invading barbarians in your compressed circle, crushing
Coveted corners of thy Holy palaces
But there was no power sword on the mystery of the eternal was:
Like a Phoenix you soared out of the smoke, alive and new.
Paris is not all in homes, and in the fact or in this face:
He's part of the story, idea, tale, nonsense.
His immortality, you understand, Oh great,
And do you think the disappearance of delirium - no!

Century he ruled like a sail sailors,
He pointed to millions of souls in their death;
And suddenly squeezed him with the walls of the prison cliffs
As the roof, leaning molten firmament.
He fell asleep in the Palace - and the eyes opened in the prison,
And died, not knowing whether it's been a nightmare...
Or it is not passed? you're dreaming in the tomb?
And if he walked in here with a rod and the purple robe, -
And before thee we fall down, Napoleon!

Oh, if to forget everything, to be free, alone,
In the solemn silence of the scattered fields
To go its own way, aimless and wide,
No future from the past.
Pluck flowers instant, poppies,
Get rays, like a first love,
Fall and die, and drown in darkness
Without the bitter joy to rise again and again!

Enjoying the sun, my soul blind,
Its rays burned up the depths, to the bottom,
And all my dreams broke up a handful of ashes.

The secret is thought - and again in the children shiver,
Covering his face, I fall in the dust...
Is thought light, like the angel of God
Lost me in the cold days.
Duma is proud of - my seeking of God, -
But contaminated by the pretense and the game
Is thought-woman, looking as strictly
Is thought dwarfs with a curved back...
Wherever I ran the trampled road,
They fly, run, crawl for me!

I gave my soul to you for a moment, and even forever.

Leaning, going forward, the growing burden dragging:
Days, years, names, enthusiasm and downs.
To me my poems are fleeing, screaming,
Threaten me ideas as incomplete shadows
Blind eyes sparkle without number
(Words from books, decayed at heart, the crypt),
And women greedy body
Clinging to the chain links.

I'm tired to live among the people and in the days
Tired of changing the thoughts, desires, tastes,
Change truths, the change of rhyme in poetry.
Would I not be "Valery Bryusov".

I hate rooms quiet,
It's hard for me to log in under the roof.
Love the space, love the reeds,
Eagle flying catching.
I want rain, I want winds
And every day - to change the housing!
Fall powerless in the grave pit,
Among the blind to wander as a beggar.

As the serpent on flushed skin,
Look back to what was before.

And virgins and the young men got up, meeting, crowning me
as the king, and
And, like shadows, flowed the steps
stream a wide dawn.
Enough, enough! I'm leaving you! take and dreams and words!
I to a new Paradise in a hurry, run away, invariably the dream alive!
I created and gave, and I raised my hammer,
so again first to strike.
I am happy and strong, free and young, do
to throw again!

"You'll live! - she told me. -
To wander in the crowd series of decades
Oh, the lips of many will dig into the lips of these
Oh, many of you "I love you" whisper in a dream!
Will not freeze again in a fit of drunken passion...
But it will be only a shadow, only deception!
You have to sing! Will come to your poems
And young men and virgins, and glorify you,
And your idol is solemnly put
At the height of. You believe in yourself,
That bright beam lit you above the fog...
But it will be only a shadow, only deception!
You'll have to wait! And between the earthly gods
Unified search, a yearning, for God.
And, finally, sleep with your anxiety,
How violent is the key among the deaf Sands.
You believe that was over Jordan...
But it will be just a shadow, a lie!"

There's something strict in her eyes
What ever questioning will not allow
But maybe the severity of this fear,
Someone to make confessions will benevolat.

It was on the street, gray and dusty
Where the trees of the Boulevard was leaning helplessly,
It was on the street, the gray and dusty.
...
We stood with you silently and vaguely...
Was worried about street life minute.
We stood with you silently and vaguely.