From the early childhood - visions, dreamings,
Like an Umbria-caressing haze.
In the villages roses are beaming,
And ring out the many high-pitched bells.

Far too sober are my dear girlfriends,
Far too forthright is their open look.
Only she alone in timeless circle
Sows and sows her garment made of silk.

Delicate and shy, the dreams torment her,
Dreams she dreams are unattainable.
And without warning - the red clothes
Have alighted on the golden wall.

With her face she's bending over silk, but
Everywhere - through the gold eyelids -
Garland with the wings of many colors
Or an angel, mortally transfixed...

With a daring branch, the dark-faced angel
"Greetings! You are beautiful!" proclaims
And she trembles before love declared,
On her tender shoulder fall two braids...

He is singing, whispering - come over,
Over her the noisy wings advance...
Out of strength at last she looks below
With a darkened and fogged-over glance...

Trembling, disbelieving: "I am, I am?"
With her hand she's covering her chest...
But the distance is black and on fire -
Cannot leave, can't breathe and cannot stand...

And then once - with agony unfathomed -
The light circle of the face lights up...
And above them - symbolism of freedom -
A sharp-beaked vulture eats a calf...

But the artist, behind curtain, greets them
With the cross of thought that cannot rest,
And proclaims: "Profani, procul ite:
Hic amoris sacer locus est."

By Alexander Blok
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat