Osip Mandelshtam
We have gone mad from endless jubilation...

We have gone mad from endless jubilation
Wine in the morning, hangover at night.
Your blush, oh drunken plague without respite,
How to contain the needless celebration?

Hand-shaking ceremonial and tortuous
And kisses on the street all through the night
When river's waves grow heavy with delight
And in the night the headlights burn like torches.

Like for a fairy wolf we wait for death
And he will be the first to die, I fear,
That has a startling mouth that's red with fear
And hair that falls upon the eyes like sheathe.

Translated by Ilya Shambat