Konstantin BALMONT

WITHOUT ANY WORD

Oh, russian mature, you're the tired soul,
the silent pain of human sorrow's face,
The grief without hope, and voice, and space we follow,
Cold height and world of dreams to praise.

All you can see, it is the steaming coolness,-
the daybreak brings it to this silent space.
The great mass of the forest showing black and freshness,
And heart seeks grandier in this grace.

The cane's immovable. The carex does not quiver,
It is the deepest calm. Peace without any word.
It is the sight where meadows flying far off.
Look, everything is tired in the world.

Come into a village garden at a setting
When waves of red sunshine are wandering around,-
Trees have so gloomyly-strangely-silent view,
And heart is calm so that feels trembling ground.

It seems that the soul asked for something desired,
It feels that itwas undeservedly hurt.
And tey were forgiven by heart which was crying
Unwittingly crying like heart which ran cold.


Translated by Yulia Dokukina (Nikolaev)