Georgy Ivanov
In 1913, still in bliss not understanding...

In 1913, still in bliss not understanding
The future that awaited us,
Our champagne glasses raised at toast’s demanding,
The New Year thus we met with cheerful fuss.

How old we have become! The years have glided,
The years have glided — and we missed them as they passed…
But yet this free and deathly air’s abided
And still, I’m sure, our recollections hold them fast —
That winter’s happiness and wine and roses.

And so we must through leaden gloom,
As fate to deadened eyes exposes,
Behold a lost world in its tomb.

Translated by Rupert Moreton