Sad Country
Sad and made of copper
The symbol we are wed,
Even our comedies
End a little sadly….
Our joyful neighbors
Wear their infernal
Hirsute fur coats….
And that only… banal
Are our mangy bears
With prey trembling
In blood-covered lips.
For what purpose, when dreams betray,
That words brim over with delusions?
For what purpose, on a forgotten grave,
Grass grows greener and emits a noise?
For what purpose these lunar heights,
If my garden is silent and dark?
And the tails of her plaits are untied,
And I hear their breath... for what?
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
Added by Poetry Lover
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