Konstantin Balmont

Try to create with e’en the smallest jots.
In other case, why are you a magician?
In humane race, you bear Almighty’s mission,
Then try to say the word in which lives God 

The thistle has pierced a lea like a sharp sword,
But scarlet blooms make him a charming vision.
One little pusher – the hot days suspicion.
Fate can thrust in a single sigh onward.

The great composer of Italian bowers 
Taught all his students, before many things,
To see a temple on his glory’s wings
  
In stone crams and bits of sacred covers. 
Just try to wish – and, with your wishing powers,
Our Father’s wind will fly along your strings.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2003