<p>461. THE SWALLOW
<a l:href="#c_492"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>When prying idly into NatureI am paticularly fondof watching the arrow of a swallowover the sunset of a pond.See — there it goes, and skims, and glances:the alien element, I fear,roused from its glassy sleep might captureblack lightning quivering so near.There — once again that fearless shadowover a frowning ripple ran.Have we not here the living imageof active poetry in man —of something leading me, banned mortal,to venture where I dare not stop —striving to scoop from a forbiddenmysterious element one drop?<Осень 1943><p>Фёдор Тютчев
<a l:href="#c_493"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p><p>462. NIGHTFALL
<a l:href="#c_494"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>Down from her head the earth has rolledthe low sun like a redhot ball.Down went the evening's peaceful blazeand seawaves have absorbed it all.Heavy and near the sky had seemed.But now the stars are rising high,they glow and with their humid headspush up the ceiling of the sky.The river of the air betweenheaven and earth now fuller flows.The breast is ridded of the heatand breaths in freedom and repose.And now there goes through Nature's veinsa liquid shiver, swift and sweet,as though the waters of a springhad come to touch her burning feet.<1944><p>463. TEARS
<a l:href="#c_495"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>
O lacrimarum fons.
Gray.Friends, with my eyes I love caressingthe purple of a flashing wine,nor do I scorn the fragrant rubyof clustered fruit that leaves entwine.I love to look around when Natureseems as it were immersed in May;when bathed in redolence she slumbersand smiles throughout her dreamy day.I love to see the face of Beautyflushed with the air of Spring that seekssoftly to toy with silky ringletsor deepen dimples on her cheeks.But all voluptuous enchantments,lush grapes, rich roses — what are youcompared to tears, that sacred fountain,that paradisal morning dew!Therein divinest beams are mirrored,and in those burning drops they break,and breaking — what resplendent rainbowsupon Life's thunderclouds they make!As soon as mortal eyes thou touchest,with wings, Angel of Tears, the worlddissolves in mist, and lo! a skyfulof Seraph faces is unfurled.<Осень 1944><p>464. THE JOURNEY
<a l:href="#c_496"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>Soft sand comes up to our horses' shanks as we ride in the darkening dayand the shadows of pines have closed their ranks: all is shadow along our way.In denser masses the black trees rise. what a comfortless neighborhood!Grim night like a beast with a hundred eyes peers out of the underwood.<Осень 1944>
