Nikolay Klyuev
A fine and wingèd beast was I...

A fine and wingèd beast was I,
I lived in God the Father’s dwelling,
The heavenly scent of lilies my
Delight and nourishment compelling.

To blessed motherland was bound,
I’d gained possession of my manhood,
I loved the prayerful Slavic sound
That chimed aloud in desert pinewood.

And now in sheltered vale my soul
For only one desire is yearning –
That fields’ expanse and waters’ roll
May not resound with painful groaning,

That brother won’t on brother cast
The eye of hostile conflagration,
That fields, as garden, may at last
Now bloom in peace and consolation.

That no one may attempt to flee
With lustrous crown of the Almighty,
That outcast I shall never be
And still may sing of Aphrodite.

Translated by Rupert Moreton