From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   Above the federal buildings' yellow gown   
   A hazy flurry circles far and wide   
   Within the sled the coachman sits down   
   And with broad gesture hides his coat inside.   
      
   Ships fall asleep. And in the evening, rocking,   
   Thick cabin windows fill to brim with light.   
   And monstrously -- just like a fortress docking --   
   Russia is breathing heavily at night.   
      
   On the Nieva stand hundred embassies;   
   Admiralty, the sun, and silence glare.   
   The state's tight porphyry upon us sits,   
   Poor like an uncouth bodice made of hair.   
      
   Hard is the journey of the Northern snob -   
   Eugene Onegin's well-cliche'ed despair;   
   On Senate square are mounds of fallen snow   
   A bonfire's smoke, and chill of steel made bare.   
      
   The ducks are sipping water, and the gulls   
   In waving folds of sea are gently lurking   
   Where, selling lumps of beef or tender rolls,   
   Like opera singers peasant men are walking.   
      
   Into the fog a row of birds is flying:   
   Self-loving, modest march can't wait.   
   That goof Onegin, poverty decrying   
   Is breathing gasoline and cursing fate.   
      
   By Osip Mandelshtam   
   Translated from Russia by Ilya Shambat   
   https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)