I launch myself across the dry and open narrows,
My carriage plunging into green as if a ketch,
Floundering through the meadow flowers in the stretch.
I pass an archipelago of coral yarrows.
'Silly girl, listen!'
But she doesn't listen
While the village roofs glisten,
Bright in the sun.
These castles, whose remains are strewn in heaps for miles,
Once graced and guarded you, Crimea the ungrateful!
Today they sit upon the hills, each like a great skull
In which reptiles reside or men worse than reptiles.
Goodnight! No more merriment for us today,
May angels enfold you in blue wings of cheer,
Goodnight! May your eyes ease after bitter tears,
Goodnight! May your heart's passion slumber away.
. . . Listen to me, God, and you, Nature!
Here is music that is worthy of you, songs that are worthy of you.
I am master!
Master, I stretch out my hands!
Him! So I rushed. 'But there will be a spy.
Don't go today.' I made another try
The morning after. Police thugs at the door.
The next week, too, I went. 'His health is poor.'
Within their silent perfect glass
The mirror waters, vast and clear,
Reflect the silhouette of rocks,
Dark faces brooding on the shore.
The sails in shreds, the helm all smashed, the roar
Of waves through blasting storm, and fearful cries
As pumps are manned. From sailors' hands last ropes
Have slipped. The sun in blood sinks down: hope's gone.
Upon the height of Tarkankut
The pennant at the crow’s nest rises with the breeze,
Shafts of sunlight play upon the water’s breast
Look, the abyss, the downward sky, the sea!
Bird-mountain, shot with thunder, furls below
feathers and wings, in curve beyond rainbow,
snow-sails and mast, immobile, vast, free;