Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/37

Rh

Here is the long-bided hour: the labor of years is accom- plished. Why should this sadness unplumbed secretly weigh on my heart? Is it, my work being done, I stand like a laborer, useless, One who has taken his pay, alien to unwonted tasks? Is it the work I regret, the silent companion of midnight, Friend of the golden-haired Dawn, friend of the gods of the hearth?