Today is the name day of Our Lady of Smolensk,
Dark blue incense drifts over the grass,
And the flowing of the Requiem
Is no longer sorrowful, but radiant.
And the rosy little widows lead
Their boys and girls to the cemetery
To visit father’s grave.
But the graveyard — a grove of nightingales,
Grows silent from the sun’s bright blaze.
We have brought to the Intercessor of Smolensk,
We have brought to the Holy Mother of God,
In our hands in a silver coffin
Our sun, extinguished in torment —
Alexander, pure swan.
Памяти Ал. Блока
А Смоленская нынче именинница,
Синий ладан над травою стелется,
И струится пенье панихидное,
Не печальное нынче, а светлое.
И приводят румяные вдовушки
На кладбище мальчиков и девочек
Поглядеть на могилы отцовские,
А кладбище — роща соловьиная,
От сиянья солнечного замерло.
Принесли мы Смоленской Заступнице,
Принесли Пресвятой Богородице
На руках во гробе серебряном
Наше солнце, в муке погасшее, —
Александра, лебедя чистого.
«When in my arms your slender form / I take, perhaps a shade too boldly, / And words of love, impetuous, warm, / Pour out to you, in silence, coldly / From my unshaked-for, rash embrace / You free yourself, and for an instant / A smile appers upon your face, / At once mistrustful, wan a...»
«All harmony, all wondrous fairness, / Aloof from passions and the world, / She rests with tranquil unawareness / In her triumphant beauty furled. When, all about her, eyes hold muster, / Nor friends, nor rivals can be found, / Our other beauties' pallid round / Extinguished wholly by he...»
«Not long did youth's vain hopes delude us, / Its dreams of love and prideful fame. / They briefly, fleetingly pursued us, / Then passed like mist and no more came. / But still we chafe, our hearts afire, / Under the yoke of tyranny, / And, heedful of our country's plea, / Her true deli...»
«Of love, of hope, of quiet glory / Not long I nursed the self-deceit, / Vanished are adolescent dallies / Like a dream, like the morning mist; / But still desire burns within us; / Beneath the press of fateful power / With impatient soul / We hark the native country's summons. / We b...»