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

The snow-white swan
Puts down under my feet. Flow
Feathers
And slowly fall on the snow.

Thus on the feathers
I walk to the door
Behind which is death.

Beyond blue windows
He sings to me,
With far-away tambourines
He sings to me,

With far-off cry
With swan's cry
He calls.

My dear ghost!
All's my dream, I know.
Do a good thing:
Amen, amen, scatter so!
Amen.


3
You walk out to the Falling Sun,
You'll see the evening light,
You walk out to the Falling Sun,
And the snowstorm the trace blots out.

Past the windows - passionless -
In the quiet snow you will go,
My beautiful believer in true God,
Quiet to the light of my soul.

I do not lust after your soul!
Your footpath is inviolable.
Into the arm, white from the kisses,
I will not hammer my nail.

And I will not respond to the name,
And I will not pull with my arm,
To the sacred image of wax
I will only bow from afar.

And, standing under the slow snow,
I will fall on my knees in the snow,
And in your holy name
I will kiss the evening snow -