Osip Mandelshtam
Children’s books, you alone I shall trust...

Children’s books, you alone I shall trust;
Children’s thoughts, you alone I shall cherish;
All that’s big is to vanish and perish:
Raise me up from deep sadness I must.

I’m dead tired of living, and none
Would I take of what life were to grant me,
But my suffering land does enchant me,
For I've been to no different one.

I once sat on a plain wooden swing
Midst the fir trees that grew tall and shady,
And a faraway garden, now fading,
My delirious memories bring.

Translated by Evgenia Sarkisyants