Semeon Nadson

They say that poetry had withered and shriveled,
It’s dead – a wreath on her unearthly head,
And light of Eden’s dawns – the light of the ideal,
With which her song was charming world of real,
In her sweet eyes was changed to dark and sad.

They do not lucid us to fable world of dreams,
They’re filled with soul’s pain and sore of secret tears,
With life of every day – banality and weariness – 
Without Beauty’s dazzling beams.

But we’re not lost of strengths, and Harmony of Heaven
Some times calls us without a step back-ward,
And our heart beats, with love of it enlivened,
Without a single word!


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September 25, 2001