And softly he sang as he flew;
The moon, and the clouds, and the stars in a throng
All listened: in heavenly song
He sang of the blessings of souls without sin
In the gardens of Paradise; hymns
To God the almighty he sang, and his praise
Was pure and completely unfeigned.
He carried toward earth, with its tears and its grief,
A soul just beginning its life;
And long, long thereafter the soul could still hear
The song he sang—wordless, but clear.
The soul languished long it is worldly attire,
Still knowing a wondrous desire;
And that heavenly music was never userped
By the wearisome songs of the earth.
—translated by Guy Daniels, 1965, in 'A Lermontov Reader.'
No comments:
Post a Comment