The Dagger
I like you well, O trusty dagger mine,
My comrade wrought of cool Damascus steel!
Forged were you by the Georgian with revenge in the mind,
By the Circassian free - for war were you made keen.
A lily-white hand it was gave you to me -
You were affection's keepsake, its last gift...
Not blood, but pearl-like tears born of the agony
Of bitter parting down your blade ran swift.
Her dark eyes rested, full of secret pain,
Of sadness and of mystery, upon
My face, and like yourself when lit by flickering flame,
Now clouded and turned dull, now glowed and shone.
O dagger, love's mute pledge, you will my true
Friend stay, and an example set to me, a wanderer:
For faithful, yes, and firm of soul like you
I'll be like you that tempered was by fire.
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
Added by Poetry Lover
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