M.Tsvetaeva, The Young Grove... - Translation (Rus.) - Poem by Lyudmila Purgina
The young grove was cut totally
By a lumberman - it's life.
What was thought by God primordially -
Then man tackled to recast.
And the grove is now - not waving,
Everywhere - the rusty stubs.
In the voices of my natives
I hear your voice, alien, dark.
And is looming to me as circles,
Mystic circles of your eyes.
- We're for sure - the indissoluble,
Indissoluble foes thus.
20 Aug 1917
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