Night, street, lamp, and pharmacy,
A meaningless and misty light.
Live on a quarter century—
The same. There is no hope of flight.
You will die, rise from where you fell,
All be repeated, cold and damp:
The night, the wavering canal,
The pharmacy, the street, the lamp.
after the Russian of Alexander Blok (1888-1921)translated by Leo Yankevichfirst appeared in The New Formalist