All, that minute, everything, that is perishable,
You buried for centuries.
You, like a baby, sleep, Ravenna,
In carotid eternity in his hands.
Slaves through a Roman portal
It is not imported mosaics.
And burns gilding
Within the walls of cool basil.
The slow moisture kisses
Sweeter crude set of tombs,
Where green sarcophagi
Holy monks and queens.
Silent coffin halls,
Shady and coldness of their threshold,
That black eye blessed Gauls,
waking up, Stone is not burned.
Military battle and resentment
Forgotten and wiped a trail of blood,
To the voice of the risen Placidus
I do not sing passions leaking years.
Far retreated Sea,
And roses cordoned off the shaft,
To sleep in a coffin Theodoric
About the storm of life did not dream.
A grape desert,
Houses and people - all of the coffin.
Only copper solemn Latin
Sings on the plates, like a trumpet.
Only in a quiet and steadfast gaze
Ravennskih Girls, occasionally,
The sadness of irrevocable sea
Passes timid succession.
Only at night, Prone to the valleys,
Leading to future centuries by,
Dante shadow profile with eagle
About New Life sings me.
May June 1909
