Достигшей немого отчаянья,
давно не молящейся богу,
иконку «Благое Молчание»
мне мать подарила в дорогу.
И ангел Благого Молчания
ревниво меня охранял.
Он дважды меня не нечаянно
с пути повернул. Он знал...
Он знал, никакими созвучьями
увиденного не передать.
Молчание душу измучит мне,
и лжи заржавеет печать...
«9 The piano, aquiver, will lick the foam from its lips. / The frenzy will wrench you, fell you, and you, undone. / Will whisper: “Darling!" “No," I shall cry, “what’s this? / In the presence of music!" Of nearness there is none Like twilight’s, with the chords tossed into the firep...»
«Here the trace of enigma's strange fingernail shows. / "It is late. Let me sleep, and at dawn I’ll reread / And then all will be clear. Till they wake me, there’s none / Who can move the beloved as I move her, indeed!” How I moved you! You bent to the brass of my lips / As an audience...»
«I’ve come from the street. Spring, where the poplar stands / Amazed, where distance quails, and the house fears it will fall, / Where the air is blue, like the bundle of wash in the hands / Of the convalescent leaving the hospital; Where evening is empty: a tale begun by a star / And inte...»
«You pictures flying slantwise in a shower / From the highway that blew the candle out, / I can’t teach you to keep from rhyme and measure, / Deserting hooks and walls in your skew rout. Suppose the universe goes masked? Or even / That every latitude breeds some of those / Who are on han...»