Tatyana Jitkova
In night-time stillness every sound rings clear,
Surrounded by soft shades of alabaster.
But look, the canvas glows with a new veneer
Of early dawn from the hand of the heavenly Master.
The sparkling stars dissolve in the glint of dawn,
In playful flame unveiling the light of morning,
The amber shades brushed o'er by the blazing sun,
The sea-waves like soft mother-of-pearl a-warming.
And meanwhile mist from murky, swampy moats
Has rolled down to the river with milky clouding,
Amorphous, vague, uncertainly it floats,
The house, the birch tree and the gate enshrouding.
The twittering birds, all welcoming the morn,
Infuse the scene with gentle breeze a-breaking,
The magic of the dawn enhanced and warmed
By the fragrance of fresh flowers now awaking.
The Master's paintbrush soars to heights divine,
Bringing the new morn's art to consummation,
As hidden shoots spire forth to tree and vine,
Perfected is the prayer of transformation.
Translation from Russian to English by John Woodsworth