The sky’s lurid. The dead of night’s done.
Around me, a thronging mass of woods appears;
Far off, some strange city’s on the run,
Its din distinctly reaching mine ears.
One will take in the domes so dense,
And towers, their teeth with daunting gaps in row,
And many a dark garden beyond a stone fence,
And proud walls of sturdy keeps of long ago.
That obviously from the distant past
An active mind draws — for restoration,
The former hum of cities turned to dust —
For the return of life’s animation.
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«На небе зарево. Глухая ночь мертва...», из цикла «Ante Lucem», 10 июня 1900.