world will turn the colour of crimson stone,
and your heart, as then, will turn to fire.
That day, in Moscow, a true prophecy,
when for the last time I say goodbye,
soaring to the heavens that I longed to see,
leaving my shadow here in the sky.
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I — am your voice, the warmth of your breath,
The futile trembling of futile wings,I am with you to he end, in any case.That’s why you so fervently loveMe in my weakness and in my sin;That’s why you impulsively gaveMe the best of your sons;That’s why you never even askedMe for any word of himAnd blackened my forever-deserted homeWith fumes of praise.And they say…
Although this land is not my own,
and the waters that are so coldthe sand as whiteas old bones, the pine treesstrangely red where the sun comes down.I cannot say if it is our love,or the day, that is ending.
Thoughts of the sunlight fainter and dimmer,
Breezes, freh breezes at dawn’s early shimmer,Flit by repass.Look at the willows against a clear heaven,Cloudless and wide.Better, Far better not to be givenThee for thy bride!Thoughts of the daylight dimmer and fainter.Oh, darkness! Gloom!Once again . . . Morning,Tell me if winter is come.
Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
have we not fingered the foulest woundsand left them unhealed by our hands?In the west the falling light still glows,and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun,but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses,and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.
You will hear thunder and remember me,
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.That day in Moscow, it will all come true,when, for the last time, I take my leave,And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,Leaving my shadow still to be with you.
My hands clasped under a veil, dim and hazy…
That’s because I today made him crazyWith the sour wine of regret.Can’t forget! He got out, astound,With his mouth distorted by pain…I, not touching the railing, ran down,I was running to him till the lane.Fully choked, I cried, ‘That’s a joke —All that was. You get out, I’ll die.’And he smiled very calmly, like stroke:‘It…