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The Gates of Paradise

Ворота рая

The eternal entrance to Heaven is not
locked with seven diamond seals;
it does not glitter, no one is tempted,
and so no one knows it.

It's only stones and moss, that's all,
a door in an old, abandoned wall.
A beggar stands there, like an uninvited guest,
stands with keys at his belt.

Hussars and knights ride by,
trumpets howling, silver clanking,
without a look at the doorman,
Peter, the shining apostle.

They all dream, "There, at God's Tomb,
we will see the doors of Paradise open for us,
there at the foot of Mount Tabor,
there the promised hour will ring."

The slow monster winds by,
howling, loud,
and Peter in his beggar's
rags stands miserable, pale.

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