Epigraph:
"The poet of poets, he is the noblest, he is the best among those who lived for poetry. His soul, full of unchanging blessing to everything that lives and breathes, denies all negative, and from all poetic souls it most resembles the immense and high sky!" Balmont on Shelley
God, the beloved, handed out to me a white towel,
From the unwanted - so strongly to tie up my body,
So that it didn't caper and dance freely-lovely.
In the world there's no poet more lofty than Balmont!
Balmont's a soul, he is a soul, and gigantic, imperious.
He's loving only abstractions - the Lord and the devil.
If you read him - he gives kisses to you with great passion
Kissing your lips with his syllables and mantras-phrases.
Balmont brings you to the mountains. And by his visions
Gifts you with permanent depths and dreams Endless-Transcendent.
Above small beauties - the Beauty of the Universe Creatures,
Powerful Angels, as consciousness of Vrubel's painting.
Body and soul - he is equal in justifying.
There's no sin for him - only his beautiful passions!
For he is a god and genius. And reached the Highest.
And in Christ as a Result - to the Light all is rushing.
Shouts and ice. And the Harmony of saint oblivion.
The Death is Royal. All's Goodness. Ascension to Silence.
Balmont - the Sum! Absolute as a poet and genius.
Only the Soul. And just Love to the Soul is glancing.