Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

(1886 - 1921 / Russia)

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The merciless fire devoured
The house of my childhood games.

I needed to overcome sorrow,
And sailed on the golden-mast boat.

I played on my beautiful flute to
The high rising moon in the sky.

The moon, by my singing, got saddened,
And covered herself with a cloud.

Then I turned my eyes to the mountain,
But had no more songs on my mind.

It seemed : all the joys of my childhood
Were burned in the flames of my home.

I wished in despair for the refuge
That water could offer to me.

A sudden reflection of a woman
Slid by like the one of the moon.

And should she sincerely desire
And should the moon kindly approve

I’m willing to build a new house
In th’ woman’s mysterious heart.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010

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