Innokenty Annensky
Autumn

. . . . .
It has not struck four... but the pale luminary
Has hardly gilded the domes above us, and in the
Faded steppe the river is misty; so softly have the
Clouds been moving above us, and their movement
Concealed so much tenderness (clouds which have
Forgotten the poison of betrayals and pain of
Separation) that one’s heart wanted music for it...
But snow lay in the mountains and everything was
Lifeless there, and in the night the hissing breakers
Snapped the strings stretched between sky and earth...
And towards morning someone silently scattering dreams
To us reminded us in a whisper that we were doomed...
The bank of cloud did not move and seemed frozen;
Night came on with a sensation of downfall...

Translated by R. H. Morrison