Alexander Blok
There’s a morn demon. He’s of gauze and light...

There’s a morn demon. He’s of gauze and light,
The happy one — with golden hair.
Like skies, is blue his tunic’s airy flood,
All — in a play of brilliants, fair.

But like through azures sometimes look dark nights,
Thus through his face sometimes looks something horrid,
Something dark-red — through his curls’ shining gold,
Through his soft voice — forgotten tempests’ blasts.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver