[Carl Copeland]

The earth was radiant, the faded
stubble illumined by the moon.
An otherworldly, lunar maiden,
you lived a life not all your own.
The day’s terrain became a wonder,
a ghostly distance drew my gaze,
the wormwood steppe (or was it water?)
was glimmering in smoky haze.
And you, ethereal and slender,
in moondust of a milky blue,
arose, so genuine, so tender,
and I walked close, so close to you.
Your eyes, with just their lashes, said it:
This is no place to recklessly
indulge in passions; my intended
is waiting for his bride-to-be.
I listened calmly, but inside me,
I felt the golden-smoldering day’s
enjoyments silently subsiding
beneath your moon-resplendent gaze.
And ever since, in my affliction,
I’ve tried to make the sun—in vain—
burn out that silver apparition:
the moon still beaming in my brain.


Edits
L14-L16: italics added
L18: smold’ring > smoldering


Crib

The earth radiated, reflecting
with faded stubble the moon’s luster.
You were lunar, alien/foreign
and not your own master.
And everything that was the day’s became wondrous,
and there seemed to be a ghostly distance,
and something under smoky haze glistened,
whether wormwood steppe or water.
And, like a slender shade arising,
all in milky light blue dust,
so tender, simple,
you walked alongside closely-closely.
With a movement of (eye)lashes alone
making it understood: here is no place
for passions and excess; I am a bride(-to-be),
and my fiancé is already waiting for me.
I listened as if calm,
but there in my soul, soundlessly
the joyful golden-sultry day was fading/going out
beneath the luster of your lunar eyes.
Since that time, I’ve been melancholy every day
and can’t, by means of the sun, burn out
the silver apparition
of the moon shining in my brain.


Original

Земля лучилась, отражая
Поблекшим жнивом блеск луны.
Вы были лунная, чужая
И над собою не вольны.
И все дневное дивным стало,
И призрачною мнилась даль
И что под дымной мглой блистало —
Полынная ли степь, вода ль.
И, стройной тенью вырастая,
Вся в млечной голубой пыли,
Такая нежная, простая,
Вы рядом близко-близко шли.
Движением ресниц одних
Понять давая — здесь не место
Страстям и буйству, я невеста,
И ждет меня уже жених.
Я слушал будто бы спокойный,
А там в душе беззвучно гас
День радостный золотознойный
Под блеском ваших лунных глаз.
С тех пор тоскую каждый день я
И выжечь солнцем не могу
Серебряного наважденья
Луны, сияющей в мозгу.