Clothed In Beauty


Vyacheslav Ivanov

As if chiseled, a fruit-laden branch

Hangs in my garden, asleep — so low...

The trees sleep — and dream? — in moonlight;

And the mystery of their life is near, near...

Even if we cannot grasp it,

The mute language is still intelligible:

They use our beauty to express

How we are one amidst rays and spots of light.

And the tremor of any life's creation

Reveals itself in a lovely form;

And the variance of different things is sweetened

By shared beauty. Multiply it!

And the world will be like this unstirring garden,

Where everything heeds a harmonious silence:

Both stem and flower yield to the dear Earth;

Both flower and stem listen to the Moon.


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