To V. A. Komarovsky
Oh, what the unconventional words
April’s last days brought to me here.
You knew that in my heart and thoughts,
Is left that Holy Week of fear.
I was not hearing the knells,
Deploring in the azure-river,
But the bronze laugh – for seven days –
Or crying, like the flowing silver.
And, sadly hiding off my face,
Like before fateful separation,
I was in waiting for the pace
Of her, called since ‘Excruciation’.
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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