Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
I Had Not Tried The Wine That Ancients Made - Poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
I had not tried the wine that ancients made,
And had not heard of Ossian’s old tune;
So why, on earth, I seem to see the glade,
And, in the skies -- the bloody Scottish moon?
And the call-over of a raven with a harp
I faintly hear in that silence, full of fright,
And, spread by winds, the winter woolen scarves
Of knights are flashing in the red moonlight!
I had received the blessing to inherit
Another singer’s ever rambling dreams;
For kin’s and neighbor’s spiritual merits
To have despise we’re absolutely free.
And not a lone treasure, I suppose,
Will pass grandchildren and to others fling,
Again a scald will ancient songs compose,
And, as his own, will again them sing.
Comments about I Had Not Tried The Wine That Ancients Made by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye