Valery Bryusov

Fierce birds, with feathers made of pure fire,
Flew above the entrance into God's Empire.
The inflamed reflections reached the marble whiteness,
And the strangers vanished in the waters' vastness.

But, on virgin marble of the steps of entrance,
Somewhat ever reddened by unnatural radiance,
And by gates and arches, everlasting, purest...
Angels drank from goblets of mysterious lures.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2000