M.Tsvetaeva, To S.E. -1 - Translation (rus.)
There are such voices,
That makes you silent, unable to repeat,
That you are foreseeing sorceries.
And the great eyes
Are coloured as the sea.
Here he stood up before you:
Look at his forehead and brows
And compare him with you!
That is the exhaustion
Of the blue blood old -
The devastated flow.
The azure is prevailing
With all its noble vein.
And the tzarevich's and lion's jesture
Is repeated by lace
As a white foam's edge.
The dragun of your regiment,
The decabrists and the versaillists!
And you don't understand -
He is too young - so the string,
Or the sword, or the brush to paint
Is the need for fingers.
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by Marina Tsvetaeva
Comments about this poem (M.Tsvetaeva, To S.E. -1 - Translation (rus.) by Lyudmila Purgina )
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