Innokenty Annensky
The old homestead

My heart is at home. My heart is glad. But what makes it glad?
The shadow of the house? The garden’s shadow? I don’t understand.

The garden is old, all the aspens-it’s terrible how lank they are!
The house is in ruin... What a lot of slime there is in the ponds!

What a lot of losses!.. Brother against brother... What a lot of insults!..
Dust and decay... Listing... But it stands...

Whose home? An old home?... Whose nook?
A dead beggar-woman’s lair without stoves...

But she might get up, she might glance out of the
Window?: “You cannot seize, but you alarm, old man!

See what a joker! See what a merrymaker! What pep!
He loves to stir the ancient ones, the old ones...

You won’t cheat, so get away: I have nothing
In my window, but the cat has two fires.

I’ll give victuals too—poison berries, henbane...
Only it’s dreadful-a month is a year to the moon...

So many watch-towers, so many stairs, not a door... The moon
Will rise, the moon will glance-where are your traces?..”

Hush!.. Not a word... distance of the past... but dimly
Seen through haze... Pass, pass... and to the living ones!

Or does my heart need weariness? Shadow of the
House? The garden’s noise?.. I don’t understand...

Translated by R. H. Morrison