"Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best (translated by Ilya Shambat) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Pitiful is the wind, spring remembering,
Gems in the skies..
We wait for you, one that knows nothing of life,
And has blue eyes!




Meeting


Evening dimmed, like ourselves charmed
With this first warmth of the spring.
Stirring alive, Arbat was alarmed;
With sympathetic tenderness, the kind
Gale touched us with a tired wing.
In our souls, raised on a fairy tale,
Sorrow quietly cried for past things.

He came - so unexpected! So hurriedly -
He who helped in all things before.
And far off in a line unconsolably
The streetlamps' radiant dots
Burned though light darkness some more...
All around flowers we bought;
We bought a bouquet.. What for?

Quietly withered away unseen garden
In the sky violet-red.
How to be saved from late trouble?
All returned. For a moment? For long?
We speechlessly looked at sun going to bed,
And Gogol nodded, thoughtful, from
The pedestral like a brother, sad.




Angelique


Near is the meek image of the dark chapel
Where the organ does weep!
Alien to me is earthly joy.
I'm Angelique.

Quiet singing in unison sounds,
Unclear are the windows, it seems,
Elegant vaults have taken control
Of my life like dreams.