Из хрустального тумана... - пер. А. Блока

From the crystal fog,
From the dream weird
There appeared one image strange...
(In the private room of restaurant
At a bottle of a wine).
And the Gipsy's song's squeal
Had come flying from the  halls,
The remote howl of violins...
Wind had come, the maiden came
Into depth of mirrors drawn.
Gaze to gaze - the fierce-blue scope
Has appeared once in view.
Magdalina! Magdalina!
From the desert wind is blowing
To burn fire on, anew.
Your narrow goblet, and a  blizzard
Are there outside the window -
And the half of life had passed yet!
After snowstorm - the south sun lits
The scorched, burned throughout, land!

And there is the end solution
Of all torments, praises passed,
Of all snaking smiles and movements
To request - let's break the glass!
That's for purpose, that on the night-bed
You'll be tired of the passion!
That's for purpose, that the shrill yell
Of the lone violins will put out
The dark twilight of the death!