Osip Mandelshtam
Your vague image, frail and born in ache...

Your vague image, frail and born in ache,
In the fog I could not sense by touch.
“God!” my tongue let out, though by mistake,
For I did not mean to say that much.

So God’s name, much like a wide-winged bird,
From my chest took on its feathered flight.
Up ahead of it, dense fog is stirred,
And its empty cage is gone from sight.

Translated by Evgenia Sarkisyants