Konstantin Balmont

It’s same to me: to be a caesar, proud,
Or a wise man among the hermit’s books,
Or just a cloud, running to far clouds
To be a-lighted by the lightning’s crooks.

For whole world – one of its gracious twins –
I stride afar over the sheer ground,
Fate calls for me, and great is deserts’ peace,
And hearty verse, like a cold bourn, sound.

To go there! Behind the timeless peaks!
They sleep and dream in azure, freedom, peace.
The charms, invisible, reign o’er my brightened soul.

The distant peaks sleep in the smoked glare.
In dying darkness, shakes a star – the sole.
I have to hurry! Faster! There, right there!


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2001