Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Saint SebastianAbraham Yarmolinsky, trans.
Translated in the original metre from the Russian of Valery Bryusov
O
O thou, my soul!
On slow and smoky fire thou burn’st and art consumèd,
With hidden dole.
Harassed and spent.
Thou droopest like Sebastian, pierced with pointed arrows,
Thy flesh all rent.
And bended bow.
Thy foes encircle thee and watch with gleeful laughter
Thy torments slow.
’Neath the evening sky.
The embers burn, and gentle is the arrow’s stinging
When the end draws nigh.
With deadly drouth?
Why hastens not thy dream unto thy lips now pallid
To kiss thy mouth?