Ego Poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky

Ego

Rating: 2.4


A week son of the dying generation,
I would not seek the roses of Alps,
I will not gain the beautiful sensation,
Not from wave’s noise, nor from young tempests hums.

But I would see on fields of scarlet glass
The brilliant and forever crying highlands,
The faded flowers in whites of tables’ vase,
The ornament, that flame of evening founds.

And when my head has sunk in nightly rest,
I read dreamed stories, lost of any real,
Forgotten words of books, burned in forgotten past,
In hazy sleep, I kiss with hot appeal.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 24 November 2015

Again I think the translation must be at fault here- it must be incredibly hard to translate from one language to another as well as try to catch the tine, the atmosphere, the rhythm, the hues of meaning

20 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success