Осенний вечер был. - пер. А. Блока

By Alexander Blok

          The night without her, who's name is Lenora. Edgar Po


The autumn evening - was. Under the sound of a glass rain
I was solving just the same question,
When into my room came,  so vast and hazy,
That gentleman. With him was a dog shaggy.

He sat into the armchair before the fire, tiredly,
And his dog lied over the carpet.
The guest said politely:"Isn't it enough already?
It's time to reconcile before the Genius of Fate."

"But in my old age- there's a return of youth and heat..."-
I began  explaining... He interrupted:
"She is - just the same: Leonora of Edgar crazy.
There's no way back. - Once more? I've said all today."

And strange: life - was the excitement, was like a storm, like hell.
But here - in the evening hour - with an alien man -
Under this gaze, so business looking, and silent
For long time, she become such simple then...

The gentleman has gone. But his dog is - with me.
In bitter hour he looks at me kindly so.
His rigid paw he lays on my knee,
As if he's saying: " It's time of being humble, sir."

9 Nov 1912