The pines

The dark pines by my window murmur low,

The wind sways sleepily their summits hoar;

I hear them whispering in monotone

Still the same tale—the same forevermore.

"In a sad part of earth we sprang to life;

In a sad land no happiness can dwell.

We by the dim gray mists are wearied out;

Our lives are drearier than a prison cell.

"We have forgotten how to wait and hope.

Here we are cold, and darksome is the sky.

Here we can only suffer and endure

In patience; here it would be good to die."

The sad pines by my window murmur low,

The wind sways sleepily their summits hoar;

I hear them whispering in monotone

Still the same tale—the same forevermore.

V. V. Bashkin 

translated by Alice Stone Blackwell


(Picture: Pines and the Waterfall, Lan Ying)