Upon the black Sea the baals stand,
The stone baals which number eight.
To this spot oft-times bondmen strand,
And throngs of young ones, their palls in hand.
The autumn murmurs; the suns abate.
At times hither some beasts will come,
At times hither a bird comes hurling;
Without purpose and looking glum,
All go, wander, and soon succumb,
Fatigued from yearning, fatigued from whirling.
Upon the black Sea the baals stand —
Their vatic number is linked to Fate;
Of yore it’s looming across the land —
And these imply with their brand:
Forever. Voiceless. Spite. Late.
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«При Море чёрном», из цикла «Отсветы раковин», сб. «Злые чары», 1906. К. Д. Бальмонт. Полное собрание стихов. Том шестой. Издание второе — М.: Скорпион, 1911.