Osip Mandelshtam
It is a pity that the winter falls...

It is a pity that the winter falls
Mosquitoes fly no more
But you, my dear, allowed me to recall
Light-headed straw.

Dragonflies weave paths across the blue
And like a swallow, circles mode —
Is that there a basket over you
Or pompous ode?

I wish not to advise, comment, dissever —
Excuses mean as little as they feel.
The taste of whipped cream is forever
And smell of orange peel.

You push at me at random from behind
As a result of this nothing gets worse
What can I do: the most tender mind
Is fit entirely on the surface!

And then you try as with an angry spoon
The yolk of egg continually to stir.
It will get white, and now it will succumb
And still, a little more...

Everything teases, all things sing in you
As though it were roulade from Italy.
And then again your little cherry mouth
Begs for a drying grape from me.

So do not try to be smart as that
To you all is a whim, all is a minute,
There is a shadow here of your hat,
And a Venetian bautta is within it.

Translated by Ilya Shambat