The Swamp

Where the moist earth yields so disinclined, A murky quietude flows, deeply enshrined; From tangled reeds rise shadows unbound, While evening shrouds it in a breathless sound.

The water reflects pale, penetrating eyes, Dancing by the lily pads, where longing lies; Beneath the surface love’s dreams do arise, In the dim twilight, crows pass under sighs.

Murmurs of waterbirds plead the night, While time rests its head upon the damp white; Here in this quiet bog, life finds its own,
In the stillness - hearts collectively moan.

• Alexandre Blok