Marina Tsvetaeva
In The Hall

Over the nighttime visions
We, children, are the kings tonight.
On us descend the long shadows,
Street lamps are burning outside,
The high hall is growing darker,
Mirrors go into themselves...
The minute is coming — don’t tarry! —
Someone from the corner will leave.
We've bent over the dark piano,
And horror of what we feel sneaks.
We're draped in the shawl of the mother,
We're pale and don't dare to breathe.
We'll see what is happening now
Under the darkness's stain?
Darker, their faces becoming —
We are the winners again!
We are chains secretly ringing
We can't fall in spirit in fight,
The final battle is near,
And end will the wicked ones' might.

We for this despise the elders,
That boring and simple their days.
We know, we know, we gather,
Much that don't know they.

Translated by Ilya Shambat