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🚧The ripe forest

Анатоль Вялюгін
Анатоль Вялюгін на
Ведах беларускіх

Translated by


Of all cathedrals there is one

That I consent to pray in:

Ripe forest, when ripe summer comes, Then set your belfry playing.

In sultry fragrance of the lea,

Where youth of old was strolling,

Thorn-apple, cockle, rosemary

Set incenses a-rolling.

Rank upon rank the fungi brood,

Bumblebee’s bass is shaking.

Deep is the moss. The leaves show blood

Of the bear-raspberry’s making.

The trunks with arrow-tappings bleed, Marked with the cross of suffering.

And hastening Brother-Badger speeds,

To his dark corner hurrying.

And amber resin’s healthful smell.

In the clear height extending

That white down is not clouds, it tells

Of angels hawks were rending.

At every step, is something new.

Thyme makes the air oppressive.

And each pine sings an anthem true, Its forest’s praise expressing.

style=”position: absolute; top: 0.72in; left: 5.08in” Translated by Vera Rich.


ANATOL vialuhin

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Collections: Belarusan Lyric poetry