THE DREAM
(Translated from Lermontov's 1841 poem)
In Dagestan a valley burned with sunlight
As I lay still, my chest pierced through with lead.
The wound was deep, its edges faintly smoking;
My blood pooled all around where I lay dead.
Alone I lay upon the sandy valley.
The cliffs that crowded all around were steep,
And sunlight scorched their yellow precipices,
And scorched me too--but now I slept death's sleep
I dreamt about a fire-lit, evening party
Back in my Motherland, where I could see,
' Midst youthful girls, adorned with crowning flowers,
A happy talk went on concerning me.
But not partaking in this conversation,
A young girl sat alone, lost deep in thought.
Her youthful soul, now troubled by a daydream,
Was dragged into despair, God knows by what.
She dreamt about a Dagestani valley;
The corpse of one she knew lay in that dream,
Its chest wound, smoking still, was turning blacker,
As blood spilled in an ever-cooling stream.