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A Girl Sang A Song

Rating: 3.2

A girl sang a song in the temple's chorus,
About men, tired in alien lands,
About the ships that left native shores,
And all who forgot their joy to the end.

Thus sang her clean voice, and flew up to the highness,
And sunbeams shined on her shoulder's white --
And everyone saw and heard from the darkness
The white and airy gown, singing in the light.

And all of them were sure, that joy would burst out:
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Dr Antony Theodore 28 September 2020

And sweet was her voice and the sun's beams around.... And only, by Caesar's Gates - high on the vault, The baby, versed into mysteries, mourned, Because none of them will be ever returned a very fine poem. tony

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carme 28 November 2018

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Andrew Vylinsky 25 September 2007

Though I`m not a truly fan of A.A.Block`s poetry, this poem I consider to be one of my favourite ones. Lots of people have written on the event the verse is about, But this one is probably the shortest and the deepest one. PS. The poem is about Zusima sea battle, which came about during Russian-Japanese War 1904-1906. Russian fleet was almast totally destroyed in it, though the sailors acted very bravely. It`s them who are 'The people, in the land of the aliens tired' and most of them did not come back really. Zusima Battle can be named as 'russian Purl-Harbour '.

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Alec Vagapov 18 August 2007

Instead of writing a comment I would rather offer my own version of translation of this poem. Thank you Alec Vagapov *** The girl was singing in a church choir, About the weary abroad, far away, About the ships in the sea, so dire, And those who'd forgotten their happy day. So sweet was her voice flying up into highness With shimmering beam on her shoulder of white, And every one listened watching from darkness The way the white garment was singing in light. And every one thought that the joy was there, That the ships were all in a quiet bay, And the weary people abroad, full of care, Were now all blessed with a happy day. The voice was sweet, and the beam was shining, And only up there at the royal rack A child, conversant with secret, was crying That nobody, really, would ever come back. August, 1905

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