Samuil Marshak
The rainbow book

Green Page

This page is green as green can be,
Green as grass upon the lea.
I’d sit here if the grass was real
And there was room enough for me.

Bright beetles run across the lawn
And, emerald or blue,
A dragonfly wings back and forth
On a daisy decked with dew

Look how a dark-red ladybird
Divides its back in two
And spreading out transparent wings
Flies up into the blue.

Like twins, dressed up in matching frocks.
Two butterflies alight.
At first they close like little books
Then open up for flight.

Blue Page

This page is as blue as the sea.
Not a bit of dry land can you see.
Cutting the waves with their big, sharp prows,
Steamers furrow the sea like ploughs.

Porpoises flit like shadows,
Jellyfish drift to and fro,
Seaweed sway in the water
As if it were windy below.

Down at the very bottom
The sea is as dark as pitch.
And some of the fishes have lanterns
Showing the way with their light.
So they can see which is which.

Yellow Page

Isn’t it jolly
To dig in the sand?
It trickles like water
Out of your hand.

Take up a shovel,
Bring out a pail
And let’s build a fortress
For soldiers to scale.

A garden looks tidy
With sand on the paths
Laid between flowerbeds
Edged with green grass.

But when there’s too much of it
Lying around
Nothing can grow
On the barren ground.

This page is a desert,
Yellow and bare;
Sand whirls in eddies.
Just sand everywhere.

Camels make journeys
Weary and long.
Bells on their harness
Keep singing a song.

Trees on the sand dimes
Grow lying down,
Knotty and prickly,
No leaves on their crowns.

The sand flies in clouds.
The soil is all parched.
The sand-dunes keep moving
Like troops on the march.

But people will stop
The march of the sands.
By building canals
With their clever hands.

Wheat shall be grown
Where it never was seen.
Turning this page
From yellow to green.

White Page

This page is covered up with snow
Where cunning foxes come and go
But never leave a trace.

The birds fly down to take a walk
And like a picture drawn on chalk
Leave traces fine as lace.

The sleighs whizz by, soon gone and lost,
And then, like silver, in the frost
Shine long and even runs.

And as we walk the crisp white snow
Is marked with foot-prints you should know:
We leave them all our lives.

The strings of traces on it look
As tidy as a line
In some good pupiFs copy-book
Or in this book of mine.

Red Page

This page of mine
Is red in hue.

Red for the sun
And your tie too.

Red banners glow
Upon Red Square,

Happy smiles
Shine everywhere.

Midnight Page

On this dark page where shadows creep
You see all Moscow fast asleep.
Off to rest the buses run
Like you and me and everyone.

The only things that stay awake
Are clocks of every size and make
And factories and railway stations
That work with diligence and patience.

Down Moscow’s streets run twinkling lights.
The moonlit river drowses.
One by one the lights go out
In Moscow’s countless houses.

The street-lamps keep alight all night
Like fire-flies in glass jars,
While in the sky like diamonds shine
The eyes of distant stars.

Above the ancient fortress wall
Until the morning hours
Red beacon-stars of ruby glass
Burn of the Kremlin towers.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg