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March 1960

612. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). В лесу

Hot as a bonfire is the summer noon, but in this wood relief awaits you still, the morning freshness will not leave it soon, and it is all suffused with early chill. Stay for a while. Sit in the nut-grove bower upon this hidden moss-grown stump, and hear, while drinking in the languor of the hour, the wondrous tale unfolding for your ear. A leaf is wafted to the mossy ground; fragrant, the little mushrooms upward reach; a sigh, a rustle, whisperings… the sound, insatiable, of creation's speech.

28 Feb. 1961

613. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Всевышнему

By the starry sky and my own soul You proclaim that You indeed exist. As an infant blind from the beginning, never having known his mother's face, yet remembers whispering and singing, hands caressing tenderly and bringing gentle warmth and never-ending grace, so do I, not having ever seen You, know You, feel Your breath from where I stand, hear Your song, Your whisper understand, and against all human earthly reason recognize the warmth that is Your hand.

13 Mar. 1961

614. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Наш мир

Of course, it's fair! Not in the present the end of which it cannot see and not in that which it bewails or does not have the strength to be. But in the changing succession of suddenly bedazzled days, its gift of momentary gladness the transient kindness of its ways. So all around us, and forever: under a dagger's constant aim people will kiss and gather flowers and build their houses just the same. In spite of all the grief of partings, of all the hands wrung in despair, of all premeditated falsehood, it still will be forever fair!

17 July 1965

615. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Звезды

Children are taught in textbooks that stars are so far away — I somehow never believed them, those things they used to say. I used to love as a child to stay awake in bed: and stars would ever so lightly rain tinkling round my head. From the blackened boughs of chestnuts I would shake them down to the sand, and, filling my pockets with them, could buy the wealth of the land. Since then I've been mean and stingy, — oh heart! — but, forsaking youth, I never forgot, growing older, my childhood's merry truth. We live low down on the ground and the sky is so far, and yet — I know that the stars are near us and can be easily met.