Osip Mandelshtam
A body is given to me — what am I to make...

A body is given to me — what am I to make
From this thing that is my own and is unique?

Tell me who it is I must thank for giving
The quiet joy of breathing and of living?

I am the gardener, the flower as well,
Never alone in the world's prison cell.

My warmth, my breathing have already lain
Upon eternity's clear pane.

Imprinted on the glass a pattern shows,
But nowadays a pattern no one knows.

Let the dregs of the moment drain away —
The pattern's loveliness must stay.

Translated by Robert Tracy