Innokenty Annensky
The lifeless one

On the blue paper, crudely,
Crudely blue, but in the
Most delicate net, the
Twigs were thrown apart,
Twig-cobwebs. And on the
Twigs was hoar frost,
Semi-precious hoar frost
Just like grains of
Sugar... On the blue
Paper the twigs were
Thrown apart, the tears
Were bitter... Poor
Little reed, dear little
Reed, and why is it
Bustling? It would ever
Convince us that it is
Alive, that, growing
Weary — (Enough, dear!) —
It too awaits May, the
Wind’s embraces and
Green clothes, to fall
Asleep to the fairy tale
Of the nightingale’s
Caress, and to awake,
Blinking little eyes
Sleepy from the azure’s
Fire. On the blue paper,
Crudely, crudely blue,
The twigs were thrown
Apart, twig cobwebs.
The hoar frost froze
All the tiny tears
Of the dry reed
On the blue paper.

Translated by R. H. Morrison