Innokenty Annensky
Smoke

(Winter Train)

In the white field was an ashy ball, the
Shadows there were tender and desired;
A ravishing dance merged and swirled
And laid smoke on their flounces.

In a turbulent sequence, screening the
Distance from me, the dancers flew past,
And there was an age-old sadness in
Their tender dance without tender music.

But below, a shudder and a banging
Proclaimed that the horror was not spent;
Lumbering with chains, Infirmity would
Fetter the airy ones there, but could not.

And was the steppe so hateful to them,
Or the torment so capriciously desired? —
Every now and then the flounce’s
Frill brushed against the iron chain.

Translated by R. H. Morrison