Marina Tsvetaeva
In the dark night of the soul...

The hour of the soul

1

In the dark night of the soul,
Un-reckoned by any clock,
I gazed into the eyes of a boy,
Un-reckoned in the nights

Of anyone yet, like two ponds
— Unclouded by memory and brimming —

In repose...
                   At this point
Your life begins.

My greying Roman she-wolf’s
Gaze, upon my fosterling sees — Rome!
My dreaming motherhood’s
Rock face... With no name for my

Sense of loss... Every pall is
Lifted — growing out of my losses! —
Just as once above a bull-rush
Basket there bent a daughter

Of Egypt...

Translated by Mary Jane White