I had not tried the wine that ancients made,
And had not heard of Ossian-s old tune;
So why, on earth, I seem to see the glade,
And, in the skies -- the bloody Scottish moon?
And the call-over of a raven with a harp
I faintly hear in that silence, full of fright,
And, spread by winds, the winter woolen scarves
Of knights are flashing in the red moonlight!
I had received the blessing to inherit
Another singer-s ever rambling dreams;
For kin-s and neighbor-s spiritual merits
To have despise we-re absolutely free.
And not a lone treasure, I suppose,
Will pass grandchildren and to others fling,
Again a scald will ancient songs compose,
And, as his own, will again them sing.
I Had Not Tried The Wine That Ancients Made
Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
(1)
Poem topics: moon, raven, red, silence, winter, earth, hear, treasure, ancient, suppose, moonlight, spiritual, absolutely, spread, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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