Innokenty Annensky
September

The all-dressed-up in gold, consumptive-looking gardens —
Where their slow sickness wears magenta-rich veneers.
The late glow of the sun lingering in its brief arches
Having no power to take the shape of fragrant fruit.

Also the coarse footprints, the yellow silk of carpets.
The comprehended lie of the last rendezvous.
The black, bottomless ponds in parks waiting and ready
(Which have been for some time) for ripened suffering.

But the heart seems to see just beauty in all losses
And only rapture in the strange and bewitched power,
And those who have already tasted of the lotus
Are roused by autumn’s scents which win one’s confidence.

Translated by Vladimir Markov and Merrill Sparks