Innokenty Annensky
Torturing sonnet

The hum of bees had hardly lapsed into silence,
When the whining mosquito’s sound drew near...
O my heart, for how many delusions have you not
Forgiven the ended day’s disquieting emptiness?

I have need of melted snow under the
Yellowness of fire that is shining wearily
Through the misted glass; and may the lock of
Hair so near me, so near me, tremble uncurled...

I need hazy clouds from a darkened summit,
Wheeling of hazy clouds in which is nothing of
The past, half-closed eyes and music of a dream,

And music of a dream that still knows no word...
O give me only an instant, but in life, not in sleep,
So that I might become fire, or be consumed in fire

Translated by R. H. Morrison