Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

(1886 - 1921 / Russia)

Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev Poems

1. Young Girls 4/13/2010
2. Wanderer 4/13/2010
3. Union 4/13/2010
4. To The People Of The Future 1/1/2004
5. To A Poet 1/1/2004
6. Three Wives Of A Mandarin 4/13/2010
7. Theater 4/13/2010
8. The Word 1/1/2004
9. The Trees 1/1/2004
10. The Sixth Sense 1/1/2004
11. The Road 4/13/2010
12. The Right Way 1/1/2004
13. The Prophets 1/1/2004
14. The Other One 1/1/2004
15. The Lost Tram 4/13/2010
16. The Gates Of Paradise 1/1/2004
17. The Descendents Of Cain 1/1/2004
18. The Conquistador 1/1/2004
19. The Clever Demon 1/1/2004
20. Sonnet 1/1/2004
21. She 1/1/2004
22. Shame 1/1/2004
23. Reader Of Books 4/13/2010
24. Porcelain Pavilion 4/13/2010
25. Poet 4/13/2010
26. Only Serpents 4/13/2010
27. Only Serpents 1/1/2004
28. Oh, How Silent Is The Nature 1/1/2004
29. Oh, How Silent Is The Nature 4/13/2010
30. Nature 4/13/2010
31. My Thoughts 4/13/2010
32. My Thoughts 1/1/2004
33. Moon Over The Sea 4/13/2010
34. Like Undistinguishable Horses 4/13/2010
35. Like Undistinguishable Horses 1/1/2004
36. Laos 4/13/2010
37. Kha 4/13/2010
38. It Was Not Once 4/13/2010
39. It Was Not Once 1/1/2004
40. Home 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

Eternal

I’m in the days’ embracing limits,
Where even skies are ever gray,
Look through the ages, live in minutes,
And wait for Holy Saturday;

The end of soul’s aimless travels,
Of lucks and troubles peaceful end.
O, come, my day when I’ll be able
To Know, See and Understand.

My soul will be so new and broad,
All, that’s alluring, will be mine.
And I will bless the golden road,
From blind worm and to golden sun.

And he, who went with me wherever,
Trough thunders and the silent peace,
He, who was kind to me in fever,
And cruel when I ...

Read the full of Eternal

The Sixth Sense

Fine is the wine that is in love with us,
The goodly bread we wait for from the oven,
And woman whom we have possessed, at last,
After we've suffered under yoke her own.

But what to do if a red sunset freezes
Above a sky that's drowning in cold,
Where there is silence and unearthly peace,
What can one do with the immortal ode?

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