Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok

Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok

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Alexander Alexandrovich Blok (28 November 1880 – 7 August 1921) was a Russian lyrical poet, writer, publicist, playwright, translator, literary critic.
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To the Muse

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In your hidden memories There are fatal tidings of doom… A curse on sacred traditions,
A desecration of happiness;
And a power so alluring That I am ready to repeat the rumour That you have brought angels down from heaven,
Enticing ...
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Dont Fear Death

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Don't fear death in earthly travels
Don't fear enemies or friends
Just listen to the words of prayers,
To pass the facets of the dreads
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The Scythians

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You are but millions
Our unnumbered
Are as the sands upon the sounding shore
We are the Scythians
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Dance Macabre

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Night
Street
Lamppost
Drugstore
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Snow Maiden

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She hailed from a very distant country,
Nocturnal child of ancient times;
She had no kin to greet her
Not even skies with a welcome shine
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Gamajun the Prophetic Bird

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On waters, spread without end,
Dressed with the sunset so purple,
It sings and prophesies for land,
Unable to lift the smashed wings' couple… The charge of Tartars' hordes it claims,
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On the Field of Kulicovo

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The river stretched
It flows, idly grieves,
And washes both banks
In steppe, above light clay of
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Halls grew darker

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Halls grew darker and somehow faded
Grates of windows drowned in black
Every knight, every beautiful lady  Knew the tiding: "The Queen's deadly sick
"And the king, very silent and frowned,
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I Apprehend You

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I apprehend You
The years pass by -Yet in constant form,
I apprehend You
The whole horizon is aflame - impossibly sharp,
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The Death of Grandfather

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We waited commonly for sleep or even death
The instances were wearisome as ages
But suddenly the wind's refreshing breath Touched through the window the Holy Bible's pages:
An old man goes there - who's now all white-haired -With ra...
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Unknown Woman

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Above the restaurants in the
The sultry air is wild and still,
And the decaying breath of
Drives drunken shouting
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Those Born In Obscure Times

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Those born in obscure
Do not remember their way
We, children of Russia's frightful
Cannot forget a thing
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Servus -- Reginae

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Don't call
Without any summonsI'll reach the shrine
And droop my head in even
To your feet fine
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I Prefer the Gorgeous Freedom

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I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear
All is good, as dreams, and blest
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from The Twelve

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The lads have all gone to the warsto serve in the Red Guard ~to serve in the Red Guard ~and risk their hot heads for the cause
Hell and damnation,life is such funwith a ragged greatcoatand a Jerry gun
To smoke the nobs out of their holes...
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The Twelve

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Our sons have goneto serve the Redsto serve the Redsto risk their heads
O bitter,bitter pain,
Sweet living
A torn overcoatan Austrian gun
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