Briusov, "Возвращение"

A poem ("The Return") by this famous symbolist and translator.  You can read the original here.

From splendid feasts I bid farewell,                  
From maidens' dance, from sense unbound,       
And thither fled where darkness swelled,         
Where hate would reign on unrich ground.        

Alone I wandered wild and free,                          
And melted in the ancient gloom;                       
As cliffs called out and greeted me                 
And eagles in my nearness loomed.                         

My savage visions marked each day,        
Impressions that I still recall,                
As wingéd faces, joyous, fey,                
Beheld me from the ancient walls.           

And wilderness was home for years, 
As I obeyed my lonely dream.              
But then my voice repelled my fears,     
Words' sound and fury then redeemed.      

Anew was I in purple gear,                        
My locks were oiled in tranquil scent,      
And hardly had my pride appeared,          
When feasting voices me Tsardom lent!    

Among the queens in gleeful sway
I could but choose a single form:
Affection's air shall drift this way
With weaknesses of springtime's norm!

And you my valley rose, my sprite,
Just like a stem your closeness gleamed.
And I grew you to fable's height,
You in the flesh, you in my dream.  

But if in fatal moment's course                  
I heard my trumpet's last commands,       
I'd wake and send my answer forth,
And fall from your uneasy hands!