My heart will love in vain, but won’t be idle.
Just think of this: an ordinary ant
wished suddenly to bow before an idol,
to yield to someone’s power to enchant!

His peace was lost, his fantasy was baited,
and nothing seemed to be worthwhile or whole;
and for himself a Goddess he created
in his own image, after his own soul.

And then, forgetting all his mirth and mournings,
he opened wide the doors to his abode
and many times he kissed her weather-worn hands
and her old slippers, battered by the road.

And there their shadows swayed upon the portal
as they conversed, though saying not a word,
as beautiful and wise as gods immortal,
as sad as dwellers of this mortal world.

—Bulat Okudzhava (1959); translation mine