Mikhail Alekseevich Kuzmin
May dew and haze
I catch in taut canvases.
Stuffed in a costrel tight,
I'll take them home come light.
Blissful constellations blaze
the Zodiac cites.
Planets make marriages
guarding my rite.
And now I pick the rotted plant
of bitter and of living life.
Vatic bubbling rants...
Flame, fiery ally!
All from death must sink from sight,
(Are the stars in well or sky?)
Clear stubble of bygone vine
I'm given again to derive.
Bark and pinkish light, -
Everything's back from dust.
Whoever knows no terror of decay
is never to be subject to destruction.
If wind's lush steed should pass this way,
it will not tip the treetop down.
An otherworldly spring will crown
the head, if holy fire's alive.
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