«Everything’s changed, nothing has changed / in the strange chill, strange chill of dawn. / I’ve dreamed many dreams over the years / and now I awake – with the years all gone. Here we go, here I stand in an autumn field / (changed, unchanged, I don’t understand) — / as if I’ve...»
«O Muse of Weeping... / — M. Tsvetaeva I have turned aside from everything, / From the whole earthly store. / The spirit and guardian of this place / is an old tree-stump in water. We are brief guests of the earth, as it were, / And life is a habit we put on. / On paths of air I seem ...»
«It’s good that Russia has no Tsar, / it’s good that Russia’s just a dream, / it’s good that God has disappeared, that nothing’s real, except the stars / in icy skies, the yellow gleam / of dawn, the unrelenting years. It’s good that people don’t exist, / that nothingness is...»
«The sun fills my room, / Yellow dust drifts aslant. / I wake up and remember: / This is your saint’s day. That’s why even the snow / Outside my window is warm, / Why I, sleepless, have slept / Like a communicant.»