The Dame

                by A. Blok (translated from Russian)

The sultry air 'bove the restaurants
In spring is nightly wild and dense
And reigning's here by the entrance
A noxious breath of noisy dens

A gilded biscuit at the bakery,
The dust is dancing in a ring,
The country houses foresakenly
Sit in a sullen gathering

And every night beyond the barriers
Expressly cocking their caps
Amid the gutters walk hilarious
With their girlies witty chaps

A rusty rowlock creaks and suddenly
Sly shrieks above the water fly
And from the sky the moon coldbloodedly
Surveys all scenes with vacant eye.

And every night my sole companion
Is dimly in my cup encased
By work of beverage nectarian
Like me, spellbound and embraced

The music bangs, the walls are trembling,
The waiters wander nearby;
And drunkards storm in their revelling -
- In vino veritas! - they cry.

And every night at fixed hour
(Or is it nothing but a dream?)
A weightless waist in murky bower
Enringed in silk moves thro the gleam.

Then, idly passing this exuberance
She enters, solemn and forlorn,
In a halo of saint secludedness,
In her retirement withdrawn.

And here speaks forgotten legendry,
Previsions of an ancient land,
And mornful plumage whispers magicly
And bracelets on a fragile hand...

And, overtaken by the nearness
I never can divert my gaze
And thro her veils behold a freeness
And distant countries in a haze

I've got a gift of sacred mystery
I have a trustful heart to keep
And all my soul from source to estuary
Astringent wine obsesses deep;

And in my brain I see, delirious
The ostrich feathers wave afar,
And lilac eyes in bloom continiuos
A vague Utopia bestar.

My soul encaves a golden burial;
The key to treasure is but mine!
Oh, right you are, ye drunken animal -
Thou 'ast the truth! It is in wine.

1906 -1917