(Aleksandr Blok, 1907)
I put my ear to the ground.
I won’t disturb the torment with a scream.
You moan too hoarsely, torturing
The soul, immortal, in the darkness.
Hey, you—arise, burn up, set fire!
Hey, you—lift up your trusty hammer,
So that a living lightning bolt will split
The blind and total dark asunder!
You are a mole-rat, digging underground.
I hear a hoarse and straining voice…
Do not delay. Remember: the feeble stalk of wheat
Will fall beneath their double-headed axe.
Dig through the evil earth, like grain,
Emerge into the light. And know:
Behind their accidental triumph
There is the swarming twilight of the tomb.
Nourish and hide the new-plowed field.
Over that field the spring will come.
And, suckled by your blood,
Another love will ripen on the vine.