Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok (28 November 1880 – 7 August 1921 / Saint Petersburg)
You're Gone Away
You're gone away, and I'm in desert,
Pressing myself against hot sand.
But now my mouth can't profess it -
The proud word that's to be said.
I see my past without sadness -
I've understood your sacred heights:
Yes, you're the Galilee, so precious
To me - non-resurrected Christ.
And let another you caresses,
Let multiply abuse and spread:
The Son of Man still never fathoms
Where'er to lay his own head.
Comments about this poem (You're Gone Away by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok )
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