A.Blok, The Hours And Days And Years Go... - Transl.(Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The hours, and days, and years go.
I wish to throw off my dream,
To look into the faces, rows
Of people, in the nature green.

I wish to dissipate the twilight
Of times... There somebody Is waving, teasing with the light
(As fast as hides the winter shadow) .

Here is the sword. It - was. But surely unuseful, though.
Who has enfeebled my strong hand? -
I do remember: a pearl's small row
Was shining once in moonlight sad.

The ill, and moarnful coldness either,
The snowy surface of the sea...
The horror flashed eyelashes under,
The old horror (know this) ...

The words? - Were absent. - What was there? -
Neither reality, nor dream.
In distance there was disappearing
Something unknown, torn from leas...
And died. But lips were singing loudly.
And hours, or years passed...
(The telegraphic wires only
Were ringing on the scene of sky...)

And suddenly (familiar and close!)
From distance distinct voice had said:
That is the man! That- ECCE HOMO!
The sword had fallen from my hand.

And binded with a silk so stuffy
(For purpose that to stop black bleeding) ,
I start to serve without crying,
Disarmed - I served to you obedient.

But hour's come. I recollected,
That I was never a common slave.
Then let the ribbon fall, and let then
The red blood colours a snow veil!