Alexander Blok
On The Field of Kulikovo

1

The river spreads wide. Flows sluggish, sad,
        and washes at its banks.
Above the yellow cliff’s barren clay,
        hayricks stand sadly in the steppe.

O, Russia! My wife! Our long road lies
        painfully clear ahead!
The road has pierced our breast like an arrow
        fired with ancient Tartar power.

Our road – lies through the steppe – and endless
        anguish, your anguish, Russia!
And I no longer even fear, the dark of night
        that lies beyond the border.

Let night fall. We’ll gallop on, light with fire
        The steppe stretching into distance.
In smoky light the holy banner, the Khan’s
        steel-bladed sabre will gleam…

The fight is endless! We can only dream of peace
        in blood and dust…
The mare of the steppe flies on and on,
        trampling down the feather-grass.

Without end! The miles, the slopes, flash by…
        Halt there!
Nearer, nearer, the fearful clouds,
        the sunset bleeds!

The sunset bleeds! Blood streams from the heart!
        Weep, heart, weep…
No peace! The mare of the steppe
        Gallops on!

Translated by A. S. Kline