Aleksandr Blok

All perished, all! The sun, in flame and brilliance,
As did it long before, the years’ circle fulfils.
A sorrow grave deplores the past existence – 
That was so beautiful – under the solemn hills.
And in the black night a white specter-mist 
Waits other shades, the silent one and grievous.

Oh, whitening shade, again you will obtain
Crowds of others, lost of past, entire.
A night will pass, come a long day again – 
Again will rise, in its self-scorching mire,
Sun of the day, the sun of golden fire,
And will again burn the sad hills and plain.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, October, 2002