M.Tsvetaeva, Psycheya - translation (rus.)
I not an imposter - I've returned to home,
I'm not a maid - I need not any bread.
I'm your passion, your rest moment,
I'm your seventh day, your seventh heaven.
There, on earth, they gave me peanut
And hang the millstones on neck so heavy.
- My darling! Don't you recognize?
I'm your swallow, and your Psycheya.
You are dressed, my tender, in rugs,
Which was formely a delicate flesh.
All were torn and all raveled out, -
Only two wings remained to end.
Let you dress me in splendour,
Bless me and save me.
And my rugs, being fret and smouldered
Take to a chasuble's crypt.
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