Retribution

Warsaw fell to the reliquaries
And on the agenda and reports
"Spiritual and moral conversations"…
So, life by reducing sad,
Defiant youth zeal,
this Faust, once radical,
«Legal», weak… and everyone forgot;
After all, life is not burned - chadila,
And it became monotonous
The words: "Freedom" and "Jew"…
Only music - one wake
his heavy dream:
Grumbling slackened speech;
Trash turned into beauty;
Direct hunched shoulders;
With unexpected strength sang piano,
Waking unheard sounds:
Curse of passion and boredom,
Shame, above, bright sadness…
And finally - phthisis evil
His will had made it,
And came down to the hospital bad
This modern Harpagon…

So his father lived: were pooled, forgotten
Men, and God, and a,
Ile dog homeless and downtrodden
In the fierce stampede city.
And I… He knew other moments
unforgettable power!
No wonder the boredom, the stench and passion
His soul - some kind of a genius
Sad sometimes blew;
And noise woke sounds
His angry hand,
He was in charge of the cold behind…
AND, may be, In the legends of the dark
His blind soul, in the dark -
To keep the memory of huge eyes
and wings, fractured in the mountains…
In whom the dimly glimmering memory of this,
The countries and people are not similar:
All his life - is a poet
Sacred embraces tremor,
is deaf, and blind, and there he,
It rests a god,
It empties Demon,
Over whom succumbed Vrubel…
His deep insight,
But their suppresses the darkness of night,
And dreams of cold and cruel
He sees "Woe from Wit".

The country - under the burden of injuries,
Under the yoke of arrogant abuse -
Like an angel, down wings,
as a woman, loses shame.
Silent folk genius,
And the voice does not deliver,
Unable to throw the yoke of laziness,
In the fields lost people.
And only about a son, renegat,
All night madly crying mother,
Yes, the enemy sends his father curse
(After all, the old have nothing to lose!..)
A son - he changed homeland!
He guzzles wine with the enemy,
And the wind was breaking the window,
Appealing to the conscience and to life…

Not as you and l, Warsaw,
The capital of the proud Poles,
Dremati forced orava
Russian military vulgar?
Life is dull lies underground,
Silent magnate palaces,
Only Pan-Frost to the ends
Fiercely rыщet of razdolьi!
Frantically fly over you
His gray head,
Or folding sleeve
Vzmetutsya storm over the houses,
Or a horse neigh - and ringing strings
Respond telegraph wire,
Ile vzdernet Ban furious occasion,
And clearly repeat iron
Beats frozen hooves
According to the deserted bridge…
again, hanging his head,
Mr. Bezmolven, sadly killed…
AND, stranstvuâ the final breakout,
Spurs bloody saber…
Revenge! Revenge! - So echo over Warsaw
Ringing in the cold iron!

All poems of Alexander Blok