O mid-July, O highway ribbon,
immoistured land so sharply brills.
Undisconnected road's ridden
along undisconnected fields.
A heavy dusty midday moan
a-fell with all its dummy blue
upon my chest, as dimmy stone,
irreconsiderably due.
Oh not in vain the vales were streaming
And clouds rang the dinner bell,
And having talked to their trimming
and warmly saturated, fell.
With bottomless unexplication,
so milky, fragile, young and brave,
in fractures and recombinations,
the crescent plays upon the wave.
With pleasure unhumiliated,
the never same and never still
presents of depth unexplicated
the incomparably tranquil.
Original: www.stihi-rus.ru/1/Belyiy/41.htm
Andrew Bely - O Mid-July!
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