Konstantin Balmont

Why the language of people, gone into time mists,
Has great thunders in passions’ accords?
And the echo of bells of all centuries and feasts,
And the harmony born by the words?

Why the language of people of our time
Sounds like bones filling a pit?
Imitation of words – like a rumor sublime,
Like a hum of the swamp grass or weed?

‘Tis because when, in proud and youthfulness clad,
Water was bursting first mid crags gray,
It was still not afraid of the breaking ahead –
It would kill if one stays on her way.

It would kill, and would fill, and, clean, run in a thrill,
Having only its freedom in prize.
Thus is born the great chime for the ages to come,
For the pallid and week future tribes.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2003