Nikolay Klyuev
Alive, not dead, do draw me in...

Alive, not dead, do draw me in,
Dense forest footpath, make me follow!
Oh greetings to you, brothers green,
O vibrant blue of dark tree hollow!

I do not come with iron will,
In hope of earning church’s blessing,
But, weeping, on my knees I fall,
To silver birch’s base I’m pressing,

To willows’ icon then I pray
And listen to birds’ sacred singing
And, filled with taste of sunny ray,
I gather milkcaps, freshly springing.

Then lie as if in baby’s cot
On moss ’neath whispering fir trees dozing…
Oh, mother forest, cloudy knot
With flax-soft fog is you enclosing.

Intoxication, it is sweet
From dappled rays of day declining,
Perception comes — it’s here I greet
The native soul upon me shining.

Translated by Rupert Moreton