Afanasy Fet
Autumn Rose

The forest has speckled its peaks,
The garden has bared its brow,
September has died, and the dahlias
Have burned in the breath of night.

But in the draught of frost
Alone among the dead,
There’s still you, queen rose,
Fragrant and magnificent.

Despite some cruel ordeals
And the malice of fading days,
You waft to me the image
And the breath of spring.

Translated by John Cobley