Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/72

46 Calm Nature's idle spy, I follow In joy her pathways; free and fond, I watch the arrow-winged swift swallow Who curves above the dusking pond.

It dashes forward, lightly skimming The glassy surface, half in fear Of alien clutching waters—dimming The lightning wings before they veer.

And once again the same quick daring, And once again the same dark stream. . . . Is not this flight our human faring? Is not this urge our human dream?

Thus I, frail vessel, am forbidden To take the foreign road, and dip To scoop a drop; the ways are hidden Of alien streams I may not sip.