The gay day flames. The grass is still.
Like greedy impotence, poppies rise,
like lips that lust and poison fill,
like wings of scarlet butteflies.
The gay day flames… The garden now
is empty. Lust and feast are done.
Like heads of hags, the poppies bow
beneath the bright cup of the sun.
by Иннокентий Фёдорович Анненский (Innokenty Fyodorovich Annensky)
(1910)
translated by C. M. Bowra
Fun extra: Here is the poem performed in Russian.
Gift haphazard, unavailing,
Life, why wert thou given to me?
Why art thou to death unfailing
Sentencing by dark destiny?
Who in harsh despotic fashion
Once from Nothing called me out,
Filled my soul with burning passion
Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?
I can see no goal before me:
Empty heart and idle mind.
life monotonously o’er me
Roars, and leaves a wound behind.
by Александр Сергеевич Пушкин (Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin)
translated by C. M. Bowra
Rambling At The Bridge Head 