Nikolay Gumilev
Autumn

An orange-red sky…
A gusty wind shakes
The bloody cluster of rowan berries.
I chase the fleeing horse
Past the glass hothouse,
Past the trellises of the old park,
And past the swan pond.
Alongside me runs
My shaggy, red-haired dog,
Who is dearer to me
Than even a brother
And who will be remembered
After she has died.
The hoof-taps speed up;
Dust covers everything.
It is difficult to chase a horse
Of pure Arabian blood.
I may have to sit down,
Panting, on a rock
That is broad and flat
And marvel vacantly
At the orange-red sky
And listen vacantly
To the wind screaming piercingly.

Translated by John Cobley