Some Beauty from Pavel Chichikov

THE VOICE THAT PRAISES GLORY

Do you hear a music sound from the shriveled brush?

In the wreck of summer storms the trees came down,
A scrim of broken light that once was lush
The leaves are shriveled, copper gray and brown

Listen, hear a voice unrecognized that still recurs,
A voice that’s neither chanting bird nor summer cricket,
A voice that circles round us in its silver registers –
What comely voice is this that carols from the thicket?

Listen to my silver cadences, I never stop
Although the world of light be broken all in pieces,
Even if the leaves of light in paradise should drop
The voice that praises glory in it never ceases.