Innokenty Annensky
The old barrel organ

The sky has driven us quite out of our minds:
It has blinded us, now with fire, now with
Snow, and stubborn winter, baring its teeth
Like a wild beast, has retreated behind April.

Scarcely for a moment does it sink into forgetfulness,
When again the helmet is pulled over its brows, and
The streams that have departed under the snow’s crust,
Without singing on to the end, will fall silent and freeze.

But the past is long since forgotten, the
Garden filled with sounds, and the stone white
And resonant, and the opened window sees
How the grass has clothed the secluded nook.

Only the old barrel organ shivers with
Cold, and in May’s sunset swoon it can
In no way mince its deadly insults,
Turning and pressing the tenacious barrel.

And in no way will this clutching barrel
Understand that there is no reason in this
Work, that the insult of old age will grow
On the thorns from the torments of the turning.

But even if the old barrel did understand what
Was its and the barrel organ’s destiny, would
It cease then to sing while turning, because
It is impossible to sing without feeling tortures?..

Translated by R. H. Morrison