Little Marsh-Sprites
I have whipped you out of sight
Through the midday soot;
To await the evening light
Of quiet solitude.
Now – we’re sitting on a moss
In the heart of fen;
Crescent with a crooked mouth
Is our only friend.
I’m like you – a nature geek,
With a spooky face;
Quiet and shy like forest creek
In a hidden place.
Loosely hangs a parting bell
On my foolish cap.
Rivers weaving through a spell
Of a nature’s lap.
And we’re sitting, little fools,
Greenish caps protrude;
Peeping from the low-land pools
Into solitude.
Dream deliriums of water,
Rusty run-off wave…
We’re forgotten echoings
Of a someone’s rave…
- Alexander Blok, January,1905.
Trans. by V.Postnikov,2006
poem by Vic Postnikov
Added by Poetry Lover
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