M.Tsvetaeva, To generals of 12th year - translation (rus.)
To generals of 12th year
by Marina Tsvetaeva
You, whose broad overcoats
Were like the sails,
Whose spurs were ringing joyly
With voices' squall.
And whose eyes were like brilliants,
Touching the hearts, -
The charming dandies, living
In old times!
With power of frantic will
You won the heart inns
And mountains, - the kings
Of every battle, every party.
You were protected by the grace of God
And mother's mercy.
All yesterday - the little boys,
Today - the officers.
And all the peaks were low for you, rather,
The stale bread was soft,
Oh, the young generals, impying
Their destiny fold.
Ah, on the effaced print I've got
In one, but wonderful such moment,
The face of Tuchkov the forth,
The gentle image your's,
And also your slender figure,
Your gold orders bright...
And after the engraving kissing -
I couldn't sleep in night.
Oh, how - I think - you could fondle
With handful of the precious rings
The curls of girls - and manes of horses,
Your dear things.
In one, but unbelievable great gallop
You spend the short life...
And all your whiskers and your curls all
The snow covered.
The three hundred - did win, the three only!
The dead couldn't rise up.
You were - the children and the heroes
You had the power!
What was so frenzy-young at that times -
Your furious ranks? ..
Your gold-curly Fortune was you quiding
As your mother frank.
You gained the victories and liked
The love, the sabre's edge -
And joyously forever passed
Into non-being state!
26 dec 1913
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