TATITERA — Тебе открыл бы душу вновь

With the bait of tender words You will not rob me of my reason! Of course, you are dearer than many, But to love you is a poor joke!

You do not need my love, You are not too occupied with me, It is not tenderness — it is your whim That I would soothe with a passionate confession.

You say that I am dear to you, But an extra captive is dearer still; I am very sweet to you, but alas! Others are sweet to you as well.

With the crowd of my rivals I do not dare compete And to their superior force I yield the field without a battle.

In love we drink a sweet poison; Yet still we drink the poison in it, And for a brief joy we pay With the joylessness of long days.

The fire of love, a life-giving fire! Everyone says so: but what do we see? It lays waste, destructive, The soul it has seized!

Who can drown the memories Of days of bliss and of suffering, Of your wondrous days, love? Then I would come alive for joy, For the golden dreams of blooming youth, And open my soul to you again.