The Heaps And Great Piles, From Balmont Poem by Liza Sud

The Heaps And Great Piles, From Balmont

The heaps and great piles of the stone bulks.
have bound the island by an immense ring.
where there are too few joys of the past
but where dream is always coming back.

The soul, percieving, loves the reasonable mode,
Who knew all the run and all boil of shaft -
in him all joy of wonderings has passed,
and music of his trembling strings is quiet

of flowers, trees, and their sumptuous plenty.
big bowls of white roses are fine,
As if by dreaming frost they were created.

The incense burners of lilies, the prayful,
are beautiful near monastic white gates
The crimson pinks' aroma is delicate.

***

Нагроможденье каменных громад
Безмерным перстнем остров оковало,
Где радостей минувшего так мало,
Но где мечта всегда идет назад.

Душа, познав, разумный любит лад.
Кто знал разбег и все кипенье вала,
В нем радостность скитанья миновала,
В нем струны тихой музыкой дрожат.

Цветов, дерев, их пышных изобилий.
Красивы чаши крупных белых роз,
Как будто, грезя, создал их мороз.

Кадильницы молитвенные лилий.
Красив у монастырских белых врат
Гвоздики алой тонкий аромат.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016
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