Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/121

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Ivan Bunin


Black goats I herded with my sister; they
Grazed by red rocks; the grass rose stiff and stinging.
Warming their backs, stones to the foot-hills clinging
Slept dumbly on. And sheer blue shone the bay.
By the gnarled silver of an olive flinging
My drowsy limbs, in its dry shade I lay,—
He came—like a hot cobweb net, asway,
Or like a cloud of flies about me singing.

He bared my knees. Kindled my quiet feet.
The silver on my shirt his white fire burned.
His hot embrace is heavy, ah, and sweet.
He laid me on my back. The whole sky turned.
He tanned my naked bosom to the teat.
From him the cammomile's kind use I learned.