"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. 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 - |
|
|