Ivan Bunin
The wind and the rain and the gloom...

The wind and the rain and the gloom
Where a desert of water lies cold.
A death until spring is life’s doom;
Until spring, gardens’ bareness will hold.
I’m alone at the dacha. It’s dark
Round my easel... a draft from the park.

Last night you came over to stay
But with me you are wistful and bored.
At dusk of the blustery day,
You had seemed like a wife once adored…
Fine, farewell! I will somehow survive
Until spring, all alone, with no wife…

Today the same clouds, on the march,
Move by endlessly, bank upon bank.
Your tracks, soaked by rain in the arch,
Got bloated with water and sank.
And it hurts me to watch all alone
The gray dimness of dusk fully grown.

I wish I had cried out at last:
“Please come back; there’s a closeness I feel!”
But no woman cares for the past:
Her love gone — with a stranger she’ll deal.
Done! I’ll sit by the fireplace and drink…
Maybe purchase a dog, I should think.

Translated by Yuri Menis