"Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best (translated by Ilya Shambat) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора For this trembling, because - is it not so -
I have a dream? - For the ironic beauty of this, That you - aren't he. 2 Under caresses of an ivy Plaid I recalled yesterday's dream. Whose victory? Who's been defeated? What has it been? Rethinking everything once more, Torturing myself once again. In this, for which no word I know, Had love ever been? Who was the hunter? Who - the hunted? All is reversed as if by Satan! What did the loudly purring Siberian Cat, understand? In this self-willing one another Who in whose hand was but a ball? Whose heart flew - yours or mine, And still again - what has it been too? What do I want, what do I pity? And I don't know: Did I win? Did somebody Conquer me? 3 Today was melting, and today Before the window I did stand. A sober look, a freer chest, I'm satisfied just once again. I don't know why. Perhaps the soul Has simply grown tired withal, And somehow the rebellious pencil I do not wish to touch at all. Distant to good and evil both, Inside the fog I stood, and thus, Was lightly drumming with my finger Upon the barely sounding glass. It is indifferent to the soul |
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