Valery Brusov (b. 1873)
(Trans. Avrahm Yarmolinsky)

IN the land of Ra the flaming, by the shores of Nile’s slow waters, where the roofs of Thebes were seen,

In the days of yore you loved me, as dark Isis loved Osiris, sister, friend and worshiped queen!

And the pyramid its shadow on our evening trysts would lean.

Oh, the mystery remember of our meeting in the temple, in the aisle of granite, dim and straight,

And the hour when, lights extinguished, and the sacred dances broken,—each to each was sudden mate;

Our caresses, burning whispers, ardors that we could not sate.

In the splendor of the ball-room, clinging to me, white and tender,—through Time’s curtain rift in twain,

Did your ear not catch the anthems, mingling with the crash of cymbals, and the people’s answering refrain?

Did you not repeat in rapture that our love awoke again?

Once before, we knew existence, this our bliss is a remembrance, and our love—a memory;

Casting off its ancient ashes, flames again our hungry passion, flames and kindles you and me,—

As of old, by Nile’s slow waters, in the land beyond the sea.

Valery Brusov (b. 1873)(Trans. Avrahm Yarmolinsky)