II
Можжевельника запах сладкий
От горящих лесов летит.
Над ребятами стонут солдатки,
Вдовий плач по деревне звенит.
Не напрасно молебны служились,
О дожде тосковала земля:
Красной влагой тепло окропились
Затоптанные поля.
Низко, низко небо пустое,
И голос молящего тих:
"Ранят тело твое пресвятое,
Мечут жребий о ризах твоих".
1914
II
The sweet smell of juniper flies
From the evergreen woods burning down.
Soldier boys are bemoaned by their wives
And the cries of the widows resound.
Not for nothing the prayers were said,
Arid earth was thirsty for rain:
And the warm red liquid was spread
Over the trampled plain.
The empty sky only grows heavier,
And the prayer is hushed and composed:
“They have wounded your body, Savior,
And they’re casting lots for your clothes.”
1914