The mountains wear wedding wreaths. <br />I am ecstatic, young. <br />In my mountains I feel <br />A cleansing chill. <br /> <br />A gray-haired hunchback climbs <br />Up to me on my cliff, <br />Bringing a gift of pineapples <br />From nurseries underground. <br /> <br />He dances in bright scarlet, <br />Singing praises to azure, <br />Kicking up with his beard <br />A whirlwind of snow-silver storms. <br /> <br />He sings out <br />In a deep bass: <br />Flings a pineapple <br />To the heavens. <br /> <br />And describing an arc, <br />Lighting up the landscape, <br />The pineapple descends, shining, <br />Into obscurity, <br /> <br />Casting off golden dew <br />In gilded columns, <br />And below, people say: <br />'It's the disc of the flameblazing sun…' <br /> <br />Golden fountains of fire <br />Rush down, ringing, <br />Washing over the cliffs <br />Like crimson drops <br />Of crystal. <br /> <br />I decanted wine into goblets: <br />And, creeping up alongside him, <br />I poured it over the hunchback <br />In a foamshining stream.<br /><br />Andrei Belyi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-mountains/
