Alexander Blok
A blizzard sweeps the streets...

A blizzard sweeps the streets,
Coiling and staggering.
Someone gives me a hand,
Someone smiles at me,

Leads me until I see a deep,
Enclosed by somber granite,
And this deep flows and sings,
And calls like an accursed spirit.

I draw near, I withdraw,
I stand stock-still, atremble,
— If I but cross the boundary strip,
I shall be among murmuring springs...

He whispers (not to scare me off) —
Already annulled, my will —
“Grasp this—die skillfully,
And you exalt your soul.

Understand this — you are alone,
How sweet are the secrets of the cold.
Look deep into the cold current
Where everything is young forever.”

I run. Get out, accursed spirit!
O do not try or torture me.
I’ll go out in the fields, the snow, the night,
And hide beneath a willow tree.

For there the will than all wills freer,
Will not impede the free man,
And the pain worse than any pain
Will turn from its devious ways!

Translated by Geoffrey Thurley