Marina Tsvetaeva
Student. 2. There is an hour — just like discarded clothes...

2

There is an hour — just like discarded clothes:
When in ourselves the pride we quench in full.
The hour of study, it in every life is
Triumphant-unavoidable.

The high hour, when, before the feet of one with finger
Appointed, our weapons laying down,
We change the purple of the warrior
On sand into the camel's down.

Like voice that rises us to our exertion
From self-will of the days, behold this hour!
Behold this hour when we are leaning down
From heaviness just like a ripe corn ear.

And ear grew up, and beat the happy hour,
And for the millstone did thirst the grain.
The law! The law! Still in the womb of earth
The burden I desired does remain.

The hour of study! But beheld and known
Is different light — the dawn still burns, still burns.
Blessed to him are you, following behind him
The supreme hour of loneliness!

Translated by Ilya Shambat