Children
Has time come? I’m fully ready.
If we’ve sinned – there’s no a chance…
We – to prisons, they – to gladness…
Give to children – sun and grass!
When one’s child – the life’s thread’s thinner,
Days are shorter in that age…
Do not scold a little ‘sinner’,
Pet a child without edge.
You’re a looser if whenever
Cannot understand your child,
Drew child’s whisper – what’s a shame there!
Bigger shame – to raise his fright!
But the sinless children’s tears
Can’t be dried, tho’ you confess,
‘Tis because they always bear
Jesus Christ in holly rays.
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poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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After the Concert
The blackened skies have reached the garden walk;
Yet my poor heart tonight cannot be not the restless…
The lights that have been failed, the lost of sounds talk,
Are they the remnants of the dream in sadness?
Oh, how sad it was, the satin of her dress,
Her breast was very white, among the straps black fair!
How sorry I was then to see her eyes distressed,
Her hands in snowy gloves, resigned as to a prayer!
And how much her soul was mercilessly dispersed,
Among the tearless, cold-hearted and unsettled!
Like sounds, bred in silence, were there spelled –
The starry sounds – lilac, bright, and gentle!
Like at an anguish’s flesh, from broken a lace,
In dazzling light of moon, with gentleness and fire,
Roll dawn amethysts into the dewy mire,
And die without trace.
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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Bow and Strings
What heavy, dark delirium!
What dim and moonlit heights!
To touch the violin for years
And not to know the strings by light!
Who needs us now? And who lit up
Two hollow, melancholy faces...
And suddenly the bow felt
Someone take them up, unite them.
"How long it's been! Amidst this gloom
Just tell me this: are you still the same?"
The strings caressed the bow,
Rang out, caressed it slightly trembling.
"Is it not true, that we will never more
Be parted. It's enough..."
Yes, replied the violin,
But pain was throbbing in her heart.
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poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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The Anguish of a Mirage
They faded, the last bands of reddish,
Like whispers of prayers in night,
O tale, such seductive and maddish,
What else do you want of this heart?
Are not, beyond measure and count,
So hard in the snows my ways?
Aren’t gray empty spaces around?
Isn’t husky the ring of the bells?
And why, every minute and instant,
My heart is divided in two?
I know that she is in distance,
But feel her right near me, too.
Here they are, the snowy clouds,
I can’t take my eyes from all that:
Right now, shall merge our routs
In snows, so white and so dead.
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poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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The Old Barrel Organ
We almost lost our minds through that mad sky:
It blinds us with its fire or its snow,
And, baring teeth, like any beast of wild,
Old winter hides in April very slow.
No sooner has it fallen into sleep,
That has again its helmet over brows,
And those streams, gone into snow deeps,
Cease their song and freeze in deadly silence.
But all this is forgotten in the past,
The garden hums, and whitens vibrant stone,
And rooms look with opened windows’ eyes,
At dark-green grass, over the road sown.
But only one – the barrel organ old
Shivers with cold in May of sunset’s languor -
Can’t ever grind all injuries recalled,
As it rotates the heedful shaft with anger.
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poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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The Bow and the Strings
How dark and heavy’s the delirium’s embrace!
How they’re turbid under moon – the heights!
To have touched Violin for so many years
And not distinguish those Strings in light!
Who craves for us? Who, insolent, has set
In flames two faces, yellow and vexed,
And suddenly the saddened Bow felt
That someone took them and forever merged.
‘How long ago it was – as in a dream –
Tell me trough dark: are you the same one, else?’…
And Strings pressed close, caressing, to him,
Ringing and tossing in their fond caress.
‘Is that all true, that it’s enough, God blessed,
That we shall never ever part again?
And poor Violin replied him always ‘yes’,
Though its heart was sinking in sharp pain.
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poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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