Valery Bryusov
The pale horse

And behold a pale horse and his name that sat on him was Death.
Book of Revelation. VI. 8

I

Like a storm the street was seething. Crowds in haste were passing
As if chased and harried by inexorable Fate.
Down the road cars, buses, hackney carriages went dashing,
Endless was the flow of folk, a torrent in full spate.
Signboards in the sky rotated alternating faces,
Shining from the terrifying height of thirty floors;
In a loud proud anthem with the din of wheels and traces
Mingled whipcracks, calls of newsboys shouting without pause.
Cruel was the light that from white captive moons came pouring,
Moons the lords of matter had contrived for their renown.
Young were hearts pulsating in this light, amid this roaring,
Hearts of drunken folk intoxicated by the town.

II

Suddenly into this seething storm, this hellish murmur,
Into this delirium in earthly form portrayed,
Came the alien sound of hooves with sudden discord bursting,
Deafening the din and talk, the roar the traffic made.,
Round the corner into view a rider came flame-featured,
Swiftly flew the horse and halted with his eyes ablaze.
Still upon the air were human cries and loud entreaties,
For an instant only — then fear flared in every gaze!
In his hands the rider held a lengthy scroll unfolded
Which proclaimed his name to all in flaming letters: Death...
Vivid strips of light like yarn luxuriously glowing
High above the street across the vault of heaven spread.

III

People overwhelmed by terror, hiding frightened faces,
In a frenzy called on God Almighty: “Woe! God save!”
Or fell writhing in the roadway, making wild grimaces...
Dogs in consternation cowered, not a moan they gave.
Just one woman who had hither come to find a bidder
For her charms, up to the fearsome steed in rapture rushed,
Fervently began to kiss its hooves, profusely crying,’
Stretching out her arms to heavens by dawn fires flushed,
And a lunatic .as well, escaped from an asylum,
Leaping from the crowd in loud and strident tones implored:
“People, can’t you see—it’s God’s right hand above you rising!
One in four will die from famine, plague or by the sword!”

IV

But the rapture and the terror lasted but a moment:
Soon there in a frightened huddle nobody remained;
New crowds and more traffic from adjoining streets came flowing
And the scene its customary hue and guise regained.
Nobody could say for sure amid the seething bustle
Had it been a lofty vision or an idle dream.
Just the fallen woman and the man from the asylum
Stood with arms outstretched to where the rider they had seen.
Then they too were swept away by waves of people passing,
Like vain words of long-forgotten verse of ancient date.
Down the road cars, buses, hackney carriages went dashing,
Endless was the flow of folk, a torrent in full spate.

Translated by Peter Tempest