Konstantin Balmont

Dear friend, tell me why the perpetual pain
Does mysteriously hide in a soul of yours?
Force yourself, for a trice, to be happy again,       
Be a king of the mountains, sea and wide plain,
Be with me in a bough continuous toss.

Look, how airy, in skies, is a shine of the moon,
How it’s passing by – void of hurry and breath.
All our visions are mixed in the endless soft swoon,
Everywhere – light and ardor and our fancies’ boon,
How beautiful, beautiful is our earth!   


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2003