From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   1   
      
   A ghostlike scene is glimmering   
   Weak choirs of shades remain   
   With silk has draped Melpomene   
   Her temple's windowpanes   
   Frost crunches in the yard   
   Black chariots stand in row   
   People and objects are disheveled   
   Street crackles with hot snow.   
      
   2   
      
   Bit by bit the servants pick apart   
   The abandoned heap of bear furs   
   A butterfly flies over and departs,   
   And rose plants are draped in furs.   
   Gnats and boxes fashionably shimmer   
   From the theater light sweat moves in streams   
   On the street the flat lamps glimmer   
   And like clouds arises heavy steam.   
      
   3   
      
   Coachmen have grown tired of their voices   
   And the night is black as if with coal.   
   Do not worry, darling Eurydice,   
   That our winter is unearthly cold.   
   Sweeter than the song of the Italians   
   Is the sound of Russian tongue to me,   
   For the sounds of harps from foreign countries   
   Clamor in it with great mystery.   
      
   4   
      
   Smell of smoke rises from lean mutton   
   With the mounds of snow the street is ringed   
   From a blissful songlike semitone   
   Flying at us is immortal spring,   
   That this aria will sound forever:   
   "To green meadows you will return"   
   And to our feet falls a living sparrow   
   On the snow that is so hot, it burns.   
      
   By Osip Mandelshtam   
   Translated from Russian 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)