On the way to the house in the spring Flew and fluttered the crosswise wind And the golden bell also would ring. At the porch she stood with a smile Looking for the door ring for a while And she would not dare lift her eye. And she vanished in distance blue, Where spring vapors circled and flew Where with sadness the woods were imbued. In a distant birch circle, old man From the birch tree an arc made And upon the meadow he aimed. Jumped upon a stump and then cried "You, my beauty, come to me tonight! You are lonely and sad in your quiet!" At the gnarled fingers she tugged, With a green beard them she bound And like forest fog soared beyond. Thus they all miss the same thing, Thus they fly on every evening, Thus the sorcerer wedded the spring. By Alexander Blok Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat http://geocities.ws/ilya_shambat2005