Page:Songs of Russia.djvu/32

 I know, dear friend, deep in my heart I know
 * My verse is pale and faint and lacking power.

Oft for its weakness do I sadly grieve,
 * And pour forth secret tears at night’s still hour.

In vain at times forth from my lips would burst
 * A cry of anguish I can scarce endure;

In vain at times love almost burns my soul—
 * Cold is our tongue, and lamentably poor.

The rainbow of the flowers of many kinds,
 * Sweet music dying on the chord away,

Grief for ideals, and tears for liberty—
 * How tell of these in words of every day?

This boundless world outspread before our eyes,
 * The world of mind, so full of anxious fear—

How draw them true to life, with timid strokes,
 * Pent in my verse’s narrow framework here?

But to be mute while hearing sounds of woe
 * That to allay we struggle eagerly—

Beneath the storm of strife, in face of pain,
 * Wounded, I cannot, will not silent be.