To V. A. Komarovsky
This quiet April day imparted
Words full of strangeness and mystique.
You knew that I was still faint-hearted
From the distressing Maundy week.
I didn’t hear the ringing clang
That swam up high in azure glaze.
Either a copper laughter rang
Or silver tears, for seven days.
Still covering my face, I cried,
As if before the parting moment,
And waited for it to arrive,
Not recognizing it as 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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