A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

587. Александр Блок (1880–1921). «Я просыпался и всходил…»

I've wakened often in the night
and peered at stairways darkness-filled.
The frosty moon threw silver light
upon my house, where all was stilled.

I've had no messages of late;

the city only brings me round
its noise, and every day I wait
for guests, and start at every sound.

And waked by steps that seemed to pass

at midnight more than once I rose
and in the window — saw the gas
that shimmered in the streets in rows!

Today — again I must await

my guests, and clench my hands, and fear.
I've had no messages of late,
knocks is all I hear.

12 June [1928]

588. Александр Блок (1880–1921). «Я был смущенный и веселый…»

I was confused and glad of heart,
your dark silk garments teased me sore.
The heavy curtain swung apart,
and voices hushed and spoke no more.

A gleaming ring — the footlights — trace

a wall of fire between us two,
the music burns your very face,
and brings a change in all of you.

And so again the candles light,

my soul alone is blind anew…
Your bared shoulders glisten bright,
the crowd of men is drunk with you…

Star, you have left this world of mire,

and far above the plain you stand…
You raise your hand — a silver lyre
is trembling in your outstretched hand.

[1928]

589. Александр Блок(1880–1921). «Какому Богу служишь ты?..»

Who is the God to whom you pray?
Are you related in your flight
to dreams that come before the night
or anxiousness at break of day?

Or, joined to a star, are you —

yourself a goddess — with the rest
proud of an equal beauty too, —
with eyes devoid of interest

Looking from strange heights up there

down at the shadows touched with flame —
oh, queen of purity, of prayer
and earthly homage to your name?

[1928]

590. Александр Блок(1880–1921). Незнакомка