You remember -- You must, of course, remember all: How, in agitation, you did pace; How I did shrink against the wall, Stung by reproaches Flung into my face. You said It was high time we parted, That you were sated, Had drunk your fill; That I was hard-hearted And fated To go on rolling downhill. Beloved! You did not love me. Nor did you know that in this human welter I was like a driven horse, The lash above me Swung by a reckless rider. You did not know Of my extremity. In the fury of the storm besieging us, My torment was -- I could not see Whereto the fates were leading us. A face is blurred Seen eye to eye. Contours emerge only at a distance. When waves are surging mountain-high A ship must battle for existence. The world is a ship. At last a steady hand Has seized the helm and turned the bow Hard into the waves, towards a new land Whose silhouette is just emerging now. Who has not, on that vast deck, Pitched and fallen, cursed and risen? Few indeed, when imminent seems the wreck, Can keep their equilibrium. When day and night the sea had rolled, And no new moon was born to calm it, I took my work into the hold To shun the sight of others' vomit. The hold -- Our ill-famed Russian pubs. Within their walls I hoped the quicker To blunt my senses to life's rubs And drown despondency in liquor. Beloved! I caused you pain. I saw the light Fade in your eyes, weary of forgiving. Yet on I went, as if for spite, Destroying myself in riotous living. You did not know Of my extremity. In the fury of the storm besieging us, My torment was -- I could not see Whereto the fates were leading us. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Long years have passed. Now I can boast: As you chose yours, So I chose my lot. Now at the festal board my toast: Honor and glory to the pilot! A flood of tenderness sweeps over me today. With sorrow I recall the anguish dumb In your dear eyes, and haste to say: That's what I was; This -- what I've become. Beloved! Your prophecy was wrong: I did not hurtle off the precipice. Most eager I of all the eager throng Pledged to erect the Soviet edifice. I am not he who once you knew, And here declare with risk of sounding banal: I'd follow freedom's banner to The ends of earth -- at least the English Channel. Forgive me. You too are changed, my love, And to a sober husband wedded. Well rid are you of men, and of The prospect of a life you dreaded. Live, then, as destined by your star, In sheltered groves, Blessed by the world's opinion. Accept these greetings from afar -- Ever your friend, Sergei Esenin. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PAST AND PRESENT by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON TO HELEN (1) by EDGAR ALLAN POE COUNTER-ATTACK by SIEGFRIED SASSOON UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 25. MOTHER AND SON by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |