Credit: Pexels
"Amid the blue haze of the ocean
A sail is passing, white and frail.
What do you seek in a far country?
What have you left at home, lone sail?
The billows play, the breezes whistle,
And rhythmically creaks the mast.
Alas, you seek no happy future,
Nor do you flee a happy past.
Below the mirrored azure brightens,
Above the golden rays increase
But you, wild rover, pray for tempests
As if in tempests there was peace!
Mikhail Lermonov
Translated by Vladimir Nabokov
No comments:
New comments are not allowed.