Born November 28, Alexander Blok

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Alexander Blok
Russian poet of the Silver Age
November 28, 1880 - August 7, 1921

Alexander Blok was born (16) November 28, 1880 in St. Petersburg in the family of a professor of philosophy and law. Education of the boy's grandfather worked, the famous botanist, AN Beketov. Almost all childhood Sasha lived on his estate under the wedge. As early as five years, Alexander began to write poetry. They say that poetic talent he inherited from his father.
After high school unit arrives in St. Petersburg University's law faculty, then translated into philology. Their first cycle of poems "From the dedications" the poet lets out a student's time in the magazine "New Way".
This is followed by "Poems of a beautiful lady", written under the influence of 19th-century philosopher Vladimir Soloviev about waiting for the world of the Eternal Feminine. In 1903 he married the daughter unit known chemist Mendeleev.
The second book of poetry published during the 1904-1908 period. Subject Russia and feelings about the fate of the people are reflected in the poet's work - in the collections "Motherland", "On the field Kulikov," "Land of Snow", in his poem "The Scythians", "Nemesis". During this period the unit was editor of criticism in the magazine "Golden Fleece" and headed the school of Symbolism.
The best-known work of Alexander Blok - poem "Twelve", written in 1918 after two years.
The famous poet died August 7, 1921 in St. Petersburg.

***
The girl sang in the choir
Of all the weary in a strange land,
On all ships, gone to sea,
About all those who have forgotten the joy of their own.
[SPOILER]
So he sang, her voice, flying in a dome
And the beam shone on the white shoulder
And each of darkness watched and listened to
As a white dress singing in the beam.

And everyone seemed to be happy,
What's in a quiet backwater all ships
What a strange land weary people
Bright found himself living.

Her voice was sweet, and the beam was thin,
And only high in the King's Gate
Communion Mysteries - cry baby
The fact that no one will come back.

***

Born in the year, the deaf
Paths do not remember her.
We - kids Russia's terrible years -
Can not forget anything.

Sizzling years!
Madness in you eh, eh hope the news?
From the days of the war, from the days of freedom -
Blood in the glow of faces.

There are dumb - that buzz alarm bell
Got conceals the mouth.
In our hearts, once enthusiastic,
There is a fatal void.

And let the mortals on our bed
Will rise to the cry of a crow, -
Those who are worthy, O God, my God,
Yes, behold the kingdom of yours!

***

I cut a stick of oak
Under the gentle whisper of the blizzard.
Clothes are poor and rude,
Oh, how unworthy a friend!

But I find, and the beggar, the road
Come on, frosty sun!
Probrozhu all day, for God's sake,
In the evening knock in the window ...

And will the white hand
A secret door in front of me
Young, with gold braid,
With a clear and open soul.

Moon and stars in braids ...
"Come in, my prince Privetnoye ..."
And poor oak staff
Shine teardrop semiprecious ...