In the Alexander Nevsky Monastery
The ghost of the sun sparsely illuminates,
The clouds and the monastery cupola.
The afternoon is muted, and it is infinitely sad,
To pass through the necropolis of art.
You, behold! Forgetting the vile malice,
Of the stone symphony of gravestones.
Except that symphony is silent,
Nothing escaped with immortality.
Summer 1952, Leningrad
-Yuri Iofe (Translated by me)
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