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(1895-1925 / Russia)

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I'll no more go roaming, no more seeking...(translated from russian)

I'll no more go roaming, no more seeking,
No more crushing goosefoot in the wood.
With those oatsheaf locks you tossed when speaking
You have vanished from my dreams for good.


With red berry juice on fair skin glowing,
Beautiful and gentle, you were like
Pink skies when the sun to rest is going
And, like new snow, you were sparkling bright.


Now the seed grain of your eyes has scattered, shrivelled,
Your rare name has melted like a sound,
Though the scent of blameless hands still lingers,
In the folds of a creased shawl is found.


In the still hour when the early sunrise
On the rooftop licks her kitten nose
I hear gentle comment on you coming
From the wind that sings in honeycombs.


What if blue dusk on occasion soulfully
Whisper that you were a song, a dream -
He who shaped your supple figure and smooth shoulders
Truly kissed a mystery supreme.


I'll no more go roaming, no more seeking,
No more crushing goosefoot in the wood.
With those oatsheaf locks you tossed when speaking
You have vanished from my dreams for good.

Submitted: Tuesday, September 07, 2010


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