Innokenty Annensky
Orianda

Neither with the white boldness of palaces on the
Heights, with striking eagles on the patterned gates,
Nor with the feminine caprice of Arabian designs
Could I more tirelessly indulge my heart.
But in vain I have sought a soul, my own
Soul, in the pink patches among the rocks’
Silhouettes... I met it in the picturesque
Desolation of a burnt-down palace, where
Tender flowering ran across the marble of
Broken steps, where at midday the old garden
Was sadder and darker and blue rays stream
Unhindered over the fading of panels and the
Fountain’s drowsiness. I felt as though I should
Find it there, playing in the pond with a bedraggled
Swan, and that we should share the dilapidated bench
Near the roots of a tree growing like a serpent.
On the road to the cliff where a cast cross
Dreams over beauty made bright through suffering.

Translated by R. H. Morrison