From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   The wooden organ did not roar this evening.   
   The cradle song of Schubert to us sang   
   The windmill blew and in the hurricane's singing   
   Laughing blue-eyed intoxication rang.   
      
   The world of ancient song is green and brown,   
   The world of ancient song, young for all age,   
   Where nightingale elms' towering crowns   
   The forest rocks with fierce and beastly rage.   
      
   And night's return, so terrible and mighty,   
   That song is wild and deep just like black wine -   
   This poltergeist is but a visage empty   
   That, thoughtless, knocks upon the windowpane.   
      
   By Osip Mandelshtam   
   Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)