Konstantin Balmont

There was a rain. With a melodious sound,
It was a-striking at the roofing’s breast.  
And through all night, it was a spirit bound
With soul mine rejecting the night rest. 

I was recalling. All my childhood’s years.
The village where I have been born and grown.
My ancient garden. Waters of my river                          
And flame of flowers its steep shores on.

I was recalling. The first date’s attraction.
The grove of birches, starry night in June.
She’d come to me. But like sharp pain was passion.
And she had fled – a bird under the moon.

I was recalling. My new song of soul.
And more and more – the smiles of lips and eyes.
She’s blonde, dark-browed, gentle… And the whole 
Wave of sweet love, narration of the stars.

I was recalling: no return for gladness,
And to that gladness – no ways are left…
And rain was striking, in this weather helpless 
Composing a measured minuet.  


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2003