For Vasily Komarovsky
Such strange words
That quiet April day brought me.
You knew it was still alive in me,
That dreadful week of passion.
I heard no pealing of bells,
Floating in clear azure,
For seven days copper laughter chimed,
Silvery sorrow streamed.
And I, veiling my face,
As if for eternal parting,
Lay, awaiting there
The still-nameless torment.
В. А. Комаровскому
Какие странные слова
Принес мне тихий день апреля.
Ты знал, во мне еще жива
Страстная страшная неделя.
Я не слыхала звонов тех,
Что плавали в лазури чистой.
Семь дней звучал то медный смех,
То плач струился серебристый.
А я, закрыв лицо мое,
Как перед вечною разлукой,
Лежала и ждала ее,
Еще не названную мукой.
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«I'll walk along the tracks, / thinking, following / the thread of the running rails / across the yellow sky, the scarlet sky. I'll go to the gloomy / station, shivering — / if the watchmen don't shout / and chase me off. And later, determined to remember, / I'll think — again, ag...»
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