Marina Tsvetaeva
Awakening

It’s cold in the world! A bed
Seems like heaven in autumn.
The hop is wavered by wind,
The hop prattles above the barn;
The rain repeats: pit-a-pat,
Onto the courtyard, pours and pours...
The light from the window — so weak!
To a child’s heart — so bitter!
The brother rubs in thought
Both eyes with a little hand:
The poor is awakened! It’s now
The turn of the tomboy sister.
A sponge and a washbasin
In a dark corner — at hand.
It’s cold! A doll without eyes
Is sombrely scowling:
It pities the little sunshine!
In the hall — trembling sounds...
The pianoforte, slightly
Touched by mother’s hands.

Translated by Erika Kleijmans