Konstantin Balmont

The sea was ringing into planes of shores.
When so young were items of our sphere,
Melodious whirls were elevating here
With rumble of strings and bugles’ awful roars.

Each wood or ditch like real music was,
And flowers could like giant moons appear –
When Mind was able those strings to hear.
But other bells have sung in Dreams’ accords.

The wind was blowing tunes in the reed-crowd,
Leas were arising to its holes’ voice.
The first flute was a princess, sweet and proud,

Of winds and freedoms crashing the sea shores. 
To raise revenge and swords to singing, loud,   
I made my flutes on bones of my foes.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2003