Alexander Blok
Dead roses and dying...

Dead roses and dying
I carry alone;
In frost, with snow flying,
I’ve far to be gone.
The same pathway treading,
Sword shouldered, he goes;
He follows, and, spreading,
His cloak of mist flows.
He goes, and remembers
That snow I must tread,
That there the last embers
Of sunset are dead,
That I have unceasing
Toil all through the night,
That comes no releasing
To me from my plight.
And where, long delaying,
For sleep shall I go?
Only roses are spraying
The soft melting snow,
Tears only are straying
On dark scarlet snow.
My anguish is nameless,
No help can I know.
But rose-blossoms, aimless,
He treads in the snow.

Translated by Cecil Maurice Bowra