Konstantin Balmont

He’d drawn on cave’s walls with his dull knife
Few bulls and horses. And the manes were shocking… 
He was a hunter, happy, brave and rocky.
And by the flames, were shades in dancing strife.

His wife with smile leaned to another wife.
He’s seven wives. In family much talking,
Sometimes the friendly, sometimes the provoking,
They moved with him in loving dreams through life.

He was sitting aside. Fancies, incautious, 
Directed him unto unknown soil.
And he was pale. And loved just one from all.

In far-far lands were buildings, high and gorgeous.
He was a king… And here, his mind and conscience
Were pierced by dreams with ringing strings’ a call.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2003