Afanasy Fet
The Swallow

When prying idly into Nature
I am particularly fond
Of watching the arrow of a swallow
Over the sunset of a pond.

See — there it goes, and skims, and glances:
The alien element, I fear,
Roused from its glassy sleep might capture
Black lightning quivering so near.

There — once again that fearless shadow
Over a frowning ripple ran.
Have we not here the living image
Of active poetry in man —

Of something leading me, banned mortal,
To venture where I dare not stop —
Striving to scoop from a forbidden
Mysterious element one drop?

Translated by Vladimir Nabokov