From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   Homes reach the stars, the sky's below,   
   The land in smoke to it is near.   
   Inside the big and happy Paris   
   Remains the secretive despair.   
      
   The evening boulevards are noisy,   
   Gone are the sundown's final rays,   
   And there are couples everywhere   
   Trembling of lips, daring of eyes.   
      
   I'm here alone. To trunk of chestnut   
   It is so nice one's head to lean!   
   And like in the abandoned Moscow   
   In heart weep verses of Rostand.   
      
   Paris at night is sad and alien,   
   Dear to the heart is madness gone!   
   I'm going home, there's vial of sorrow   
   And tender portrait of someone.   
      
   There's someone's glance, sad and fraternal.   
   There's tender profile on the wall.   
   Rostand and the Reichstadtian martyr   
   And Sara - in sleep come they all!   
      
   Within the big and happy Paris   
   I dream of grass, of clouds and rain   
   And laughter far, and shadow near,   
   And deep just like before is pain.   
      
      
   By Marina Tsvetayeva   
   Translated 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)