Aleksandr Blok
On the Field of Kulicovo
The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves, And washes both banks. In steppe, above light clay of cliffs Rinks mourn in ranks. O Russia! Dear wife! With clearness and pain We see the lengthy
The Twelve
III Our sons have gone To serve the Reds To serve the Reds To risk their heads! O bitter, bitter pain, Sweet living! A torn overcoat An Austrian gun! -To get the bourgeosie We’ll
He, who was born
He, who was born in stagnant year Does not remember own way. We, kids of Russia’s years of fear, Remember every night and day. Years that burned everything to ashes! Do you bring madness
A Girl Sang a Song
A girl sang a song in the temple’s chorus, About men, tired in alien lands, About the ships that left native shores, And all who forgot their joy to the end. Thus sang her
The Stranger
The restaurants on hot spring evenings Lie under a dense and savage air. Foul drafts and hoots from dunken revelers Contaminate the thoroughfare. Above the dusty lanes of suburbia Above the tedium of bungalows
To the Muse
In your hidden memories There are fatal tidings of doom… A curse on sacred traditions, A desecration of happiness; And a power so alluring That I am ready to repeat the rumour That you
Halls grew darker
Halls grew darker and somehow faded. Grates of windows drowned in black. Every knight, every beautiful lady Knew the tiding: “The Queen’s deadly sick.” And the king, very silent and frowned, Passed the doors,
Gamajun, the Prophetic Bird
On waters, spread without end, Dressed with the sunset so purple, It sings and prophesies for land, Unable to lift the smashed wings’ couple… The charge of Tartars’ hordes it claims, And bloody set
The Death of Grandfather
We waited commonly for sleep or even death. The instances were wearisome as ages. But suddenly the wind’s refreshing breath Touched through the window the Holy Bible’s pages: An old man goes there –
Don't fear death
Don’t fear death in earthly travels. Don’t fear enemies or friends. Just listen to the words of prayers, To pass the facets of the dreads. Your death will come to you, and never You
I Wait For You
I wait for you. The years in silence pass And as the image, one, I wait for you again. The distance is in flame and clear one as glass, I, silent, wait with sadness,
The Faithless Shadows
The faithless shadows of day are running And high and clear is the call of bells, Steps of the church are blazed as with the lightning, Their stones are alive and wait for your
I Prefer the Gorgeous Freedom
I prefer the gorgeous freedom, And I fly to lands of grace, Where in wide and clear meadows All is good, as dreams, and blest. Here they rice: the clover clear, And corn-flower’s gentle