…And the Nature bent,
Went out in Winter’s hands –
Like gold of kurgans
In tenacious fingers of the dead…
It seems to me the paths are covered –
The ways of life – with heavy snow…
As if there’s nothing firmer in the world
Than fragile hoar frost…
As Time is bound into the River’s ice,
As if the Sun went blind...
As if the Gods grew weak –
To turn the Wheels…
The forest is like chained
By sparkling sound sleep.
Enchanted by Cold Winter,
By Winter it’s restrained.
In frosty, icy pictures
All set o’er around,
On stellar night needles,
In blizzards, a sudden calm.
On boughs the rime sparkled,
Birch trees were princess-like
In heavy silver jewellery
At golden first light.
By noon the blizzard has begun
And scattered the calm,
And blinded by its spiny shroud
Of shining snow and rime.
There, by the edge of the forests the cold midnight sinks!..
…My heart grieves in its motiveless sorrow,
As if I left alone in the whole world…
I ask, paint by the light of a splinter in epic colours
Of motley clothes this winter night – long and cold.
Drown this snowstorm by accords of yours –
By the strings roar from under your soothsaying fingers.
Agitating my blood let your song loudly sound
In the vortex of snowstorms under low clouds!
Sing with your, so distant, voices as rustle of groves,
As nightingales’ enchantment…
Carry generous haying freshness down to
Zalesie’s thick and snow-covered forests!
From under gusli strings let Spring splash
Through the blizzard threnody sores!
And then the heavenly clear azure will shine!
Sing, guslar – silver-tongued bird-prophet!
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