Thursday, February 20, 2014

Russian Poetry: The Beggar by Fyodor Tyutchev

(from Russian Poets, reviewed earlier) 


by Fyodor Tyutchev (trans. F. Cornford and E.P. Salaman

My God, send down Thy consolation
   To him who on the pavement’s heat,
Past the green garden, like a beggar,
   Drags heavy feet;

To him who sees beyond the paling
   Smooth lawns where the cool shadows lie,
Green hollows that he may not enter,
   But passes by.

No, not for him the trees in welcome
   Spread shade across the sultry way;
And not for him the fountain scatters
   Its smoke of spray

And not for him shall misted grotto
   Beckon as through a veil outspread,
Not dewy dust from waters falling
   Refresh his head.

My God, send down Thy consolation
   To him who, on life’s stony street
Like a poor beggar, past the garden
   Drags weary feet.

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