We shall be buried on an eve stifling and close,
'neath cloudy skies;
Lightnings will play,
the river roar, the forest
utter moans and sighs.
The night will be a
night of storm; mighty in
their stupendous power,
Rain, fire and thunder
will burst forth from
those dread clouds that
darkly lower.
But o'er our graves,
foretelling that a bright
day shall be given,
The dawn will set a
rainbow fair, spanning
the whole wide heaven.
M. L. Mikhailov
translated by Alice
Stone Blackwell
(Picture: Sunset in the winter a coast of the sea, Arkhip Kuindzhi)
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