Konstantin Balmont

The golden bullions, thrown by a nature -
Oh how charming always is their weight!
It’s beautiful – a whirl running string set,
The flooding sounds’ powerful emersion.

It’s beautiful – deep wisdom in old scriptures,
The gleam of secrets, fire of the line.
More beautiful – to live in fancies, fine,
And, like a daisy, bloom in spring fields richest.

From all sweet flowers, given to a dream,
Maybe, this flower is the most modest,
It’s so simple, virgin, self-composed…

It doesn’t bear the dreams of orchids, slim,
Or ones of irises, so languid in repose.
But verse of few words – as the best it seems.  


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2003