Alexander Blok — The Stranger

At dusky time, above the restaurants,

The savage air is stiff and dim,

And drunken yells are ruled by pestilent

And vernal venom of the spring.

Out in the monotone surrounding

Of boring countryside routine,

A child's loud cry is somewhere sounding,

The baker's sign is vaguely seen.

And on the outskirts, mid the gravel rocks

Along the dusty streets unpaved,  

Those seasoned wags in tilted billycocks

Take ladies on a promenade.

A woman’s shriek is vaguely entering,

A squeaky rowlock on the lake,

And in the sky, adapt to everything,

The disk grimaces for no sake.

And every night, the liquid density

Shows the one friend I care to see.

And by the murky wine's perplexity

He's tamed and deafened, just like me.

And at a random table near my side,

A sleepy waiter pours a glass,

Those drunken bastards, foul and rabbit-eyed,     

Yell out: In vino veritas! -

And every evening, on the minute set,

(Or is it just a reverie?)

Embraced in silk, a moving silhouette

Through misty window glass I see.

And, always faithful to her solitude,

She brings a hint of fragrant mists,

And passes through the drunken multitude,

And by the window wall she sits.

And ancient legends allegorical

Drift from her silks' mysterious scent,

And from her feathers bending mournfully,

And from her slender jeweled hand.

In nameless intimacy mesmerized,

I gaze beyond the cloudy veil,

And see a far enchanted paradise,

And hear a deep enchanted tale.

Alone, I guard the deepest mysteries,

Bestowed upon me is a heart,

And like a thorn, the liquor's mistiness

Has pierced my soul, its every part.

The image sways in my subconsciousness

Of ostrich feathers, sadly bent,

And cobalt eyes, absorbing, bottomless,

That blossom on a distant land.

My soul is but a precious treasury,

And I alone possess the key!

You drunken monster! I'm surrendering,

You win: In wine, the truth, I see.

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