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The old Ladoga*
Over the Volkhov** sleep the mounds,
Bylina’s*** raven draws the height.
The Universe’s storms of passions
long since in burial grounds lie.

I see, how the grey Volkhov’s waves
are rushing into free expanse
of Ladoga – and all the words
seem to me silly in the haze.

For what are our passions, strives,
all doubts and all the idle talks?..
There bends itself without regret
the grass – under the wind it rocks.

Gripping the memory’s poor shreds,
I’m trudging, saved by prayer, but withered…
Eternity behind my head
with its mute paganism breathes.

* - Ladoga – lake into which the Volkhov flows.
** - Volkhov – river in the North-West of Russia.
*** - Bylina – Russian traditional heroic poem.

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