Valery Brusov (b. 1873)

IF you kept faith, or not, does it avail?

If I was faithful or unfaithful to you?

Our eyes that would look elsewhere flinch and fail,

Yet not my will has power to undo you.

Once more I tremble, so once more you pale,

As the forebodings of old pain break through you.

The moments pour with noise of torrents streaming:

Above us passion’s lifted blade is gleaming.

Whoever made us, lips and lit eyes drinking

Of lips and eyes, be it or God or Fate,

Is it not one? Within the circle shrinking

We stand to hear the spell reverberate!

We bend with happiness and fear,—and sinking,

We fall: two anchors on the sea-floor grate.

Fancy, nor chance, nor passion overpowers

Us, whom the ineluctable devours.