(Mosaic in a Moscow Cathedral)
Thy face flushed red ‘gainst Batu’s fires,
That gruesome glower in eyes gone dead,
The rust-gold wings where faith respires
In sacred trepidation spread.
Before thy stare in the Time of the Dread
Passed fools in skufia, tattered, worn,
Forevermore midst vaults widespread,
Thy huge eyes brim with spleen and scorn.
Мозаика в Московском соборе
Алел ты в зареве Батыя —
И потемнел твой жуткий взор.
Ты крылья рыже-золотые
В священном трепете простёр.
Узрел ты Грозного юрода
Монашеский истёртый шлык —
И навсегда в изгибах свода
Застыл твой большеглазый лик.
«Alone, I come to the road. / The stony track gleams in the mist: / the calm night listens to God, / and star is speaking to star. All’s marvellous, grave, in the sky! / Earth sleeps in the radiant blue… / Why such pain then, such weight on the heart? / Do I regret, wait for somethin...»
«Don’t tempt me with your tender ruses, / with the return of passion’s blaze: / a disenchanted man refuses / inveiglements of former days! / My faith in faithfulness has faded, / my faith in love has passed its prime; / I won’t indugle another time / in dreams degrading and degrad...»
«I like the Lutheran service, calm and grave, / I like its ritual, solemn and severe; / the message of these bare and empty walls / I bow to, I revere. But don’t you see? Why surely you must know / that for the last time Faith is with us there. / She has not crossed the threshold yet to ...»
«At first a thought that could be brought / Into an ode of lyric soul / For the smart set is not overt / Alike a charm in a young girl. / Then on acquiring a chance / It comes evasive and talkative, / Can be perceived at a glance — / Alike a novel wife — nuance / With othe...»