Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev (1886 - 1921 / Russia)
The merciless fire devoured
The house of my childhood games.
I needed to overcome sorrow,
And sailed on the golden-mast boat.
I played on my beautiful flute to
The high rising moon in the sky.
The moon, by my singing, got saddened,
And covered herself with a cloud.
Then I turned my eyes to the mountain,
But had no more songs on my mind.
It seemed : all the joys of my childhood
Were burned in the flames of my home.
I wished in despair for the refuge
That water could offer to me.
A sudden reflection of a woman
Slid by like the one of the moon.
And should she sincerely desire
And should the moon kindly approve
I’m willing to build a new house
In th’ woman’s mysterious heart.
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