Страница:
New moon to a midnight is going:
Hour of monks - and of sharp-eyed birds,
Hour of youths and conspirators,
Hour of lovers and murderers.
Here each person's thought is double,
Here, rider, hurry the horse.
We will pass, not jingling with bracelets
And not tinkling with a purse.
Now the houses part with houses,
On the square there is talk and dance..
Here, before a small Mother of God,
Cordoba did its love pronounce.
Here, upon a stone porch,
By the fountain we'll sit silently,
Where you first for my face were aiming
With wolf's eyes.
Rustling of silk around the knees,
Smell of rose and a lock of hair..
O, beloved one - see, she's here -
Carmen the poisoner!
There is no day's temptation
In a folio in which people die.
To woman - all of the planet,
To woman - Ars Amandi.
Heart - of a lovers' potion
Heart - is more loyal than all.
Somebody's mortal sin is
Woman from the cradle.
Ah, so far to the heaven!
Lips - in the dark are near..
God, do not judge! On the planet
A woman you never were.
The gypsy passion of parting!
You meet it - and you take flight!
I dropped the arms and the forehead
And think staring into the night:
No one, digging in our letters,
Understood in all depth
How we're sacrilegious - that is
How we in each other have faith.
1
Clouds - all around,
Cupolas - around,
Over all Moscow
Many arms are wound!-
I am lifting you, my best burden you
Oh my little tree
Flying weightlessly!
In this wonder-town,
In this peaceful town,
Where if I were dead
I'd be happy one,
To be king for you, and to grieve for you,
A wreath to take on,
Oh my one firstborn!
You to Sacrament bow
Do not blacken brows
And all forty - count -
Forty churches now.
You with steps do walk - with a young one's walk -
All the many thrills
Of the seven hills.
Time will come for you:
And the daughters - too
You will give Moscow
With sweet sorrow.
My sleep by my will, like a ringing bell,
Early dawns above -
On the Vagankov.
2
From my hands - not a hand-created town,
My gorgeous brother, my strange one.
Upon the church - Forty times forty, side by side,
And pigeons that above them glide.
And Spassky - with flowers - gate,
Where Orthodox Believer doffs his hat.
The starry belltower - haven from sin -
Where from the people's kisses floor is clean.
Incomparable five-cathedral round
Accept, my ancient and inspired friend.
To Unexpected Joy in the garden
I'll lead my guest from foreign land.
The sleepless bells will ring, will shine
The cupolas of gold very fine,
And a cloth will be dropped by Mother of God
Upon you from the purple clouds.
And you will get up, full of divine power..
And you won't repent that you were my lover.
3
Past the towers at night
We are rushed by squares.
Oh, how roar of soldiers
In the night instills fear!
Rumble, loud heart!
Kiss with passion, love!
This roar is so bestial!
Daring - oh - is blood!
My mouth is aflame,
Given that sight's divine.
Like a golden chest
Iverskaya does shine.
You stop picking quarrels
And a candle light,
That it won't be now
With you as I'd like.
4
The day will come - a sad day, they say!
They'll finish ruling, finish crying, burn away -
Chilled with the others' nickels all the same -
My eyes, moveable like the flame.
And - like a double as his double he does sense -
The likeness will appear through light face.
O, I at last will merit thee,
A gorgeous belt of beauty!
And from afar - do I envy thee? -
Will pull, absently cristening,
A pilgrimage along the road black
To my hand, which I surely won't draw back,
To my hand, on which the ban no longer sits,
To my hand, that no more exists.
Your kisses, O the living ones,
I won't oppose at first - not one.
The majesty's shawl beautiful
Has shrouded me from head to heel.
Nothing will make me blush, today
I have a holy Easter day.
Along the streets of left-alone Moscow
I will drive forth, and you will slowly go.
And none will lag behind along the road,
And on coffin's roof will thunder the first stone -
And sleep, self-loving and lonely
Will be resolved finally.
And nothing will be needed to Marina
Our newly-introduced ballerina.
5
Above the city Peter cursed to hell
Rolled the delirious thunder of the bells.
Turned over thundering the high tide of the sea
Above the woman that was rebuked by thee.
To Peter and to you, O Tsar, praise be!
But bells are higher still than both of ye.
While they are ringing still out of the blue -
Indisputable, Moscow's primogeniture.
And sixteen hundred churches, near and far
All laugh at puny hubris of the tsars.
6
The rain of bells drizzles above
The blue of near-Moscow groves.
Blind men wander the Kaluga road -
Beautiful - Kaluga - song, and the same
Washes and washes the names
Of peaceful wanderers, in darkness of ones praising God.
And I think at these times: Someday I
Of you, friends, and you, enemies, having tired,
And of compliance of Russian word -
A silver cross on my chest I will don
Cross myself and quietly go along
The old Kaluga road.
7
Seven hills - just like seven bells!
Belltowers on the seven bells.
Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all.
Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills!
In the ringing, fine-gold day of John
The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread,
And around a hedge, and around a hedge,
And the churches there stand with golden heads.
And as nuns were pouring to dining hall,
The first ringing I did love, I did love
And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard
And hot sleep and noise in the stove.
Do conduct me, all you imbecile,
Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd!
Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still
With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground!
8
Moscow - what a giant
And strangely-mannered home!
In Russia all are homeless.
We all to you will come.
A knife behind a boot-leg,
A shoulder brand in shame.
From far away us all
You will call all the same.
Upon the penal brandings,
On every kind of ill -
A baby Panteleimon
We have, O man who heals,
And there behind that door,
Where all the people pour -
There the fine golden heart
Is burning of Iver.
And "Halleluiah" pours
Upon the fields grown tan.
I kiss you in the bosom,
O the Moscow land!
9
With a red brush
The mountain-ash burned:
The leaves were falling
And I was born.
Hundreds of belltowers
Argued at least.
It was the Saturday:
John the Baptist.
And in my teeth now
I want to crush
The hot ashberry's
Bitter brush.
1
In a shady ring my eyes
She surrounded - insomnia.
With a shady wreath insomnia
Did my eyes bind.
At night - the same!
To idols don't pray.
Idol-worshipper - I'll give
Your secret away.
To you - day's not enough,
Fire of sun above!
You pale-faced one, wear
My rings' pair!
You screamed - and proclaimed
The wreath of shade.
Enough - did you - call me?
Enough - did you - sleep with me?
People bow to you.
Light in face you'll lie.
I'll be reader to you,
I, insomnia:
Sleep, soothed,
Sleep, rewarded one,
Sleep, wreathed,
Woman.
That - you would sleep - easy,
I will sing - to thee:
"Never-silent one,
Go to sleep, my girl,
You the sleepless one,
Sleep, my little pearl."
And to whom we didn't write letters so,
And to whom we did not vow..
Sleep.
Here now parted are
The inseparable.
Here released from arms
Are your little arms.
Here you're tormented,
My dear tormentess.
Sleep's - holy.
All - sleep.
Wreath's - gone.
2
In my giant city it is night.
From the sleepy home I alight
People think: Daughter and wife
And I recall just this: Night.
On my way blows the wind of July
And somewhere music in a window - barely.
Ah, now the wind will blow until dawn
Into the chest through the chest's thin wall.
There's light on the window, and a black poplar,
A flower in the hand, and ringing in the tower,
And this step nobody behind,
And this my shade, but me you can't find.
Fires - like threads of golden beads,
Taste of night leaf between my teeth.
Free me from shackles of the day,
That I'm your dream, friends, understand.
3
After a sleepless night the body gets weaker,
It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's.
Just like a seraph you smile to people
And arrows moan in the slow arteries.
After a sleepless night the arms get weaker
And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe.
Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each
Sudden sound is the whole rainbow.
Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden
Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked
This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night
Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark.
4
This night today I am alone in the night -
A sleepless and a homeless nun!
This night today I have the keys
Of all the gates of capital, just one!
The sleeplessness has pushed me on the way.
O, dusky Kremlin, how you're beautiful!
I kiss into the chest this night today
The whirling-round ground as it does howl!
The stifling wind blows straight into the soul,
The hair arises - not the hair, but down.
Those who are pitied and those who are kissed -
This night today I pity everyone.
5
A window here again
Where they don't sleep again.
Maybe they thus sit,
Maybe they drink wine.
Or they would not part
Simply the two hands.
There is such a window
In each house, friend.
Window in the night -
Partings', meetings' scream!
Maybe - hundred candles,
Maybe - only three.
And my restless mind
Cannot find its peace.
In my very home
Was begotten this.
Pray, friend, for the sleepless home
Behind a window with a flame!
1
A bird in the hand is your name,
An icicle on the tongue is your name,
One movement of your lips is your name,
Five letters is your name.
A ball caught in the flight it is,
A silver tambourine between the lips,
A stone, into a quiet pond thrown,
Will sob the name by which you're known.
Your loud name resonates in the light
Crackling of the hooves in the night.
And a trigger with crackling ample
Will call it back into the temple.
Your name - forbid this! -
Your name - the eyes kiss,
In tender chill of motionless eyelids
Your name - to the snow give a kiss.
Key, ice, blue gulp - deep
With your name is the sleep.
2
A knight without reproach,
A ghost, a gentle one,
Who is it that called you
Into my life so young?
In fog greyish-blue
Dressed in a chausible
Of snow, stand you.
Around the city
By the wind I'm chased,
For the third evening
A thief I sensed.
The blue-eyed
Singer of snow
Stared at me so.
The snow-white swan
Puts down under my feet. Flow
Feathers
And slowly fall on the snow.
Thus on the feathers
I walk to the door
Behind which is death.
Beyond blue windows
He sings to me,
With far-away tambourines
He sings to me,
With far-off cry
With swan's cry
He calls.
My dear ghost!
All's my dream, I know.
Do a good thing:
Amen, amen, scatter so!
Amen.
3
You walk out to the Falling Sun,
You'll see the evening light,
You walk out to the Falling Sun,
And the snowstorm the trace blots out.
Past the windows - passionless -
In the quiet snow you will go,
My beautiful believer in true God,
Quiet to the light of my soul.
I do not lust after your soul!
Your footpath is inviolable.
Into the arm, white from the kisses,
I will not hammer my nail.
And I will not respond to the name,
And I will not pull with my arm,
To the sacred image of wax
I will only bow from afar.
And, standing under the slow snow,
I will fall on my knees in the snow,
And in your holy name
I will kiss the evening snow -
There, where with a majestic foot
In the coffin quiet you did go,
Quiet to light - holy glories -
You the keeper of my soul.
4
To beast - a den,
To wanderer - road
To dead one - quay
To each - their own way.
To a woman - to connive,
To the king - to rule,
To me - to glory
Your name.
5
Cupolas are burning in Moscow!
Bells are ringing here in Moscow!
And coffins here stand in row -
In them queens do sleep, and the kings.
And you do not know, in Kremlin at dawn
Breathing's lighter - than on all the earth!
And you do not know, in Kremlin at dawn
Till the dawn I pray and sing.
And you walk on by this your Nieva
At the time, when on river Moskva
I stand and my head bow
And the flashlights cling.
With insomnia I am loving you,
With insomnia I am hearing you -
Of the time when, on the whole Kremlin too
Awaken those who ring..
But my river - with your river flows,
And my arm - with your arm goes
They won't come together, Oh my joy
Dawn catches dawn until.
6
They thought he was a man!
And they forced him to die.
He died forevermore.
About a dead angel, cry!
He sang the evening beauty
At sundown of the day.
Shimmer hypocritically
Three waxen flames.
Rays went from him -
On the snow, hot strings!
Three candles of wax -
To the sun! Light-bearing!
O look now, how his
Dark eyelids have sunken in!
O look now, how his
Wings are broken!
The black reader reads,
Crosses the arms idle...
The dead singer lies
And celebrates Sunday.
7
Like a weak ray through black gloom of the hells -
Thus is your voice against exploding cannonballs.
And in the thunder, just like some seraph
Announces in a voice tone-deaf -
Somewhere from foggy mornings long ago -
How he did love us blind and nameless so -
For sin - disloyalty, for coat of blue..
For how, Russia, he did not stop loving you,
And more tender than all - that, the most deep
Into night vanished he to do the wicked deeds!
And near the temple - how with a lost pen
He leads and leads.. and about that then,
What days await us, how God will tell lies,
How you will call the sun - and it won't rise!
Thus, as one with prisoner
(Or child is silent in the sleep no more)
Before us came - on square wide and far -
Alexander Blok's holy heart.
8
Here is he - look - tired of the foreign lands,
A chief without friends.
Here -drinks from mountain rapids with his hand -
A knight with no land.
There's all for him: knighthood, and land,
Mother, and bread.
Great's your inheritance - so rule this land,
Friend without friends!
9
His friends - do not bother him!
His servants - do not bother him!
It was so evident on his face:
Not from this world does my kingdom come.
Eternal snowstorms circled the veins
Hunched-over shoulders bent from the wings,
In singing cut, into baked-over flame
He let his soul go like a swan.
Fall then, O fall then, copper heavy!
Wings are ordained correctly: To fly!
Lips, that have shouted the word: Respond! -
They know, that this is not there - to die!
He drinks the dawn, drinks the sea - in full
Revels. - Don't serve the requiem!
Of one who forever ordered: Be! -
There is enough bread left to feed him!
10
Not a broken rib -
A broken wing.
Not to the shooters shot -
Through chest. Not to take out
This bullet. Wing can't be repaired.
He walked impaired.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Sticky is crown of thorns on the head!
What is the noise of mob to one dead,
The swan's down of woman's flattery...
He walked, deaf and lonely,
Freezing over the sunsets
With emptiness of eyeless statues.
But one thing still lived in him:
The broken wing.
11
Without word, without call -
Like a thatcher from the roof falls.
And maybe, again
He comes - you lie in the cradle?
You burn and don't dim,
The light of weeks several..
Which of the mortals
Rocks your cradle?
The blessed heaviness!
Singing chestnut that prophesies!
Oh, who will tell me
In which cradle you lie?
"While it's not sold!"
With jealousy in my head
With a great detour
I'll walk the Russian land.
The midnight countries
Will go from end to end.
Where's his wound the mouth,
His eyes' bluish lead?
Take him! Hold tightly!
To love him and love him only!
O, who will whisper
In which cradle you lie?
Pearly grains,
Muslin shade full of sleep.
Not laurel but thorn -
Sharp-toothed shade of a cap.
Not angel, but bird
Opened two white wings!
And to be born once more,
That could be swept by the wind?!
Tear him! Hold tightly!
Just don't give away! Hold high!
Oh, who will breathe to me
In which cradle you lie?
And maybe false is
My feat, and my labor futile.
How you're put in the ground,
Maybe - you'll sleep till pipe call.
The giant indenture
Of your temples - catches my sight.
Such an exhaustion -
Can't be lifted even with pipes!
The country pasture,
Rusty, quiet reliably.
The janitor will show me
In which cradle you lie.
12
Like drunk, like sleepy
Unawares, without caution,
The dimples of temples:
Sleepless conscience.
Empty eye sockets:
All dead and light.
Empty glass of a dreamer
And man with second sight.
Not you on
Still rustling pile of garbage
Carried out -
Returning by Hades' gorge?
Did not this,
Ringing with a silver bell,
Head flow past
The sleepy Gebr?
13
Thus, O the Lord! And this my prayer
Accept for temple's confirmation.
I sing not pleasures of my love -
I sing the wound of my nation.
Not nasty person's rusty trunk -
Granite, with people's knees rubbed coarse.
Hero and king given to all,
To all - a singer - righteous - corpse.
Not bashful at the coffin boards,
Breaking upon Dnieper the ices,
Russia - on Easter we do swim
To you with pouring thousand-voices.
Thus, heart, there will be cry and praise!
Let your cry - which thousand?
The mortal love is jealous so.
The other's at the chorus glad.
1
O muse of weeping, the most beautiful muse!
O you the child of white night, ever mad and fierce!
A black snowstorm over Russia you send
And your cries our hearts like flying arrows pierce.
And we tumble down and a deaf "Oh" -
A hundred thousand people your name are calling:
Anna Akhmatova! The name is a giant sigh,
And she who is nameless into the abyss is falling.
We're blessed that along with you we walk the same
Earth, that the sky is the same overhead;
And he, who is wounded with your mortal fate,
As an immortal goes onto his deathbed.
In my singing city the cupolas are aflame,
And wandering blind man praises the Spassky light..
And I give to you my city that's full of bells,
Akhmatova, and my heart I give to you beside.
2
What are people's wiles to me? Holding
My head I stand,
On late dawn I sing
Holding my head.
Ah, I have been raised on the crest
Of a wave wrathful and mad!
I sing you, that you are alone among us,
Like moon overhead!
That, having flown like a raven on the heart,
Pierced the clouds so.
Hook-nosed one, whose wrath is deadly and
Whose mercy's deadly also.
That over my Kremlin made of fine gold
Has spread out her night,
That tied my neck as if with a belt
With singing delight.
Ah, I am happy! Never the dawn
Had been more clear,
Ah, I am happy, that for your sake
I'm leaving as a beggar -
That you, whose voice, narrowed my breath -
O depth, O haze -
That by the name I called
The Village of the Tsar muse.
3
Just one more gigantic flap -
Eyelids are quiet.
O, dear body! O the ash
Of bird so light!
I sang and waited, what I did
In fog of day.
So little body was in her,
And so much sigh.
Her dreamy sleepiness is not
Humanly dear.
Something of eagle and of angel
There was in her.
She sleeps, and chorus lulls her to
Garden of Eden.
As if he's not sated with song,
The sleeping demon!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Hours, days, centuries - Not us,
Not our rooms yet.
And monument does not recall
Already, bent.
The broom is doing naught for long,
And sweetly heave
Over the Muse of Village of the Tsar
The nettle's leaves.
4
Mother's name is Anna,
Lev - of the child.
In his name is fury,
In her is quiet.
Red is his hair -
Tulip's head!
So, Hossanah
To the little tsar!
God give him lungs
And the smile of Mom
And a look of
Pearl-seeking one.
God, attentively
Look after him:
Tsar's son's more divine
Than the other sons.
Red lion-cub
With green eyes,
Heavy burden is on your head!
Northern and Southern oceans
And thread of pearl
Black rosary is in your hand.
5
You repeat nobody. How many
Companions and friends! And
Pride and bitterness rule over
This youth so tender.
Remember the crazy day at the port
Threats of the Southern wind,
Roar of the Caspian - and in the mouth
A rose's wing.
Like a gypsy I gave to you
A stone in a cut frame,
Like a gypsy I lied to you
Something about fame..
And - high at the sails -
Teenager in blue blouse.
Thunder of sea and the menacing call
Of the wounded Muse.
6
You won't leave alone! I'm a warden,
You're an escort. The fate is one.
And one in the frigid empty
Order for horses is to us given.
And my temperament is peaceful!
And clear are my eyes!
Let me go, Mr. Escort, now
To take a walk to that pine!
7
That from catafalques and from cribs
You, ripping away the cover,
You that fan the winds
And snowstorms send over,
Sending fevers, poems and wars -
Serf-keeper! Black magician! -
I have heard the menacing roar
Of lions, of the chariot preaching.
I hear voices in passionate tones -
And a steadfastly silent one.
I see the red sails -
And a black one them among.
Either by ocean you lead the way,
With the full breast - or by air
I, like sun, wait, holding out my chest
To the judgment that does death bear.
8
People shouted on the street,
Smoke flew from the bakery place.
I remembered the ruby mouth
Of a street singer with narrow face.
In the dark kerchief with flowers -
Honored by your civility
You were drowned in the crowd
Of praying ones at Sergei-Trinity,
Pray for me, beautiful one,
Sorrowful one and mad,
How the forests will crown you as
The lashing mother of god.
9
To the golden-lipped Anne - to a word
That all of Russia redeems!
Carry away my voice
And my heavy sigh, wind.
About quiet bow of the earth among
Golden fields, O the burning skies,
Tell the story; and also about
From the agony blackened eyes.
You attained once again
In the thundering height!
You - the nameless one!
Carry love of mine
To the gold-lipped Anne -
All of Russia!
10
At the thin wire over oats' wave
Like thousand voices - is the voice today!
And - holy, holy, holy - tabors passing by
Speak with the same voice, O the holy,
I stand and I listen and I rub the corn ear,
And voice locks me up with a dark cupola.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Not these branches of swimming willows
But your arm I truly touch so.
For all, who in torment your approach glory -
The earthly woman, a cross in the sky to me!
At night curtsies to you alone I bear,
And with your eyes from the walls the icons stare!
11
You'll overtake the Sun in the sky,
In your hand all the stars!
Ah, if - only to enter you
Like a wind - door ajar!
And to tremble, and burst out,
And sharply to dull the sight,
And, like a forgiven child,
To sob and to go quiet.
12
I have been given arms - to each one to stretch both,
Not to hold tight not with one, lips - to give names,
Eyes - not to see, the high eyebrows above them -
To tenderly marvel at love, and more still at not love.
And this the bell there, heavier than the Kremlin's,
Ceaselessly walking and walking around in the chest -
This - who knows? - I don't know - maybe - it must be -
I will not become a guest on the Russian soil!
I'll conquer you from all lands, from all the sky,
Because forest is my cradle and in the forest I'll die,
For I stand on the ground with just one of my legs,
For I will sing to you like no one else.
I'll conquer you from all times, I will fight
All golden banners, all swords and all nights,
I will chase away dogs from a porch and I'll throw the key
For in winter night not even dogs are more loyal than me.
I'll conquer you from all others - from that one
I will be no one's wife, you - no one's groom,
And in the last argument I will take you - be quiet! -
From the one with which Jacob stood in the night.
But for now I won't on your chest the fingers cross -
With you, you remain - O the curse! -
Your two wings, that at the ether take aim -
Because the world is your cradle, and world your grave.
To you, my rival, I will come sometime
At night when moon is standing overhead
When frogs are wailing loudly on the pond
And women are from pity going mad.
And, marveling at the beating of the eyelids
And on your jealous eyelashes, it seems,
I'll tell you that I'm not a human being
But just a vision which you only dream.
And I will say: "Console me, console,
Someone is beating nails into my heart!"
And I will say to you that wind is fresh
And that the stars over our heads are hot.
Who did not stomp on you - who did not melt you -
O merchant of the non-flammable roses!
One thing unshakable on this planet
Did allow behind him Jesus:
Israel! Your second kingdom's coming:
For all the money, if they only knew,
You paid with all your blood - you are the heroes,
The traitors, prophets, and the traders too.
In each of you - Even in him that counts
His gold before a candle in the dark -
The voice of Jesus resonates more loudly
Than in John, Matthew, Luke and Mark.
Around the earth - from ocean to ocean -
Crucifixion and from the cross taking down -
We'll give Jesus Christ a true burial,
Israel, with the last one of your sons!
You, measuring me by days,
With, hot and homeless, me,
Wandered under the giant moon
Upon the squares heated strongly?
And in the tavern filled with plague,
When solemn waltz a sound did make,
Did you not in a drunken fist
My piercing fingers verily break?
With which voice in my sleep do I
Whisper - you heard? - O smoke and ash! -
What can you know of me, since you
With me did not sleep or get trashed?
August - asters,
August - stars,
August - bunches
Of grapes and ashberry
Rusty - August!
Like a child, August
You play with your apple
Good-natured and full of weight.
Like with hand, with your imperial
Name you do caress the heart:
August! - Heart!
Month of late kisses,
Of late roses and late lightning!
Of the rain beneath the stars
August! - Month
Of the rain beneath the stars!
1
Under the sixth birch
At the corner church
On the frosty dawn
Wait, Don Juan!
But with groom, alas,
And my life I swear,
There is nowhere
In my land to kiss!
We don't have a fountain,
And the well did freeze,
Strict, severe eyes
Does Madonna have.
And so that the beauties
Trifles would not hear
We have loud and clear
Ringing of the bell.
Here I would have lived,
But - I will grow old,
You don't like my world
O the handsome one.
Ah, in a bear coat
It's hard to recognize you,
If not for your lips too,
O Don Juan!
2
Long upon the foggy dawn
The snowstorm did weep.
In a bed of snow they lay
Don Juan to sleep.
No hot stars above his head,
Not a roaring fountain..
Othodox cross is on the chest
Of our Don Juan.
I have brought a Sevillian
Fan, black, so that night
That's eternal, for yourself
Would become more light.
That you'd see a woman's beauty
With your own sight,
Hour of monks - and of sharp-eyed birds,
Hour of youths and conspirators,
Hour of lovers and murderers.
Here each person's thought is double,
Here, rider, hurry the horse.
We will pass, not jingling with bracelets
And not tinkling with a purse.
Now the houses part with houses,
On the square there is talk and dance..
Here, before a small Mother of God,
Cordoba did its love pronounce.
Here, upon a stone porch,
By the fountain we'll sit silently,
Where you first for my face were aiming
With wolf's eyes.
Rustling of silk around the knees,
Smell of rose and a lock of hair..
O, beloved one - see, she's here -
Carmen the poisoner!
x x x
There is no day's temptation
In a folio in which people die.
To woman - all of the planet,
To woman - Ars Amandi.
Heart - of a lovers' potion
Heart - is more loyal than all.
Somebody's mortal sin is
Woman from the cradle.
Ah, so far to the heaven!
Lips - in the dark are near..
God, do not judge! On the planet
A woman you never were.
x x x
The gypsy passion of parting!
You meet it - and you take flight!
I dropped the arms and the forehead
And think staring into the night:
No one, digging in our letters,
Understood in all depth
How we're sacrilegious - that is
How we in each other have faith.
Poems about Moscow
1
Clouds - all around,
Cupolas - around,
Over all Moscow
Many arms are wound!-
I am lifting you, my best burden you
Oh my little tree
Flying weightlessly!
In this wonder-town,
In this peaceful town,
Where if I were dead
I'd be happy one,
To be king for you, and to grieve for you,
A wreath to take on,
Oh my one firstborn!
You to Sacrament bow
Do not blacken brows
And all forty - count -
Forty churches now.
You with steps do walk - with a young one's walk -
All the many thrills
Of the seven hills.
Time will come for you:
And the daughters - too
You will give Moscow
With sweet sorrow.
My sleep by my will, like a ringing bell,
Early dawns above -
On the Vagankov.
2
From my hands - not a hand-created town,
My gorgeous brother, my strange one.
Upon the church - Forty times forty, side by side,
And pigeons that above them glide.
And Spassky - with flowers - gate,
Where Orthodox Believer doffs his hat.
The starry belltower - haven from sin -
Where from the people's kisses floor is clean.
Incomparable five-cathedral round
Accept, my ancient and inspired friend.
To Unexpected Joy in the garden
I'll lead my guest from foreign land.
The sleepless bells will ring, will shine
The cupolas of gold very fine,
And a cloth will be dropped by Mother of God
Upon you from the purple clouds.
And you will get up, full of divine power..
And you won't repent that you were my lover.
3
Past the towers at night
We are rushed by squares.
Oh, how roar of soldiers
In the night instills fear!
Rumble, loud heart!
Kiss with passion, love!
This roar is so bestial!
Daring - oh - is blood!
My mouth is aflame,
Given that sight's divine.
Like a golden chest
Iverskaya does shine.
You stop picking quarrels
And a candle light,
That it won't be now
With you as I'd like.
4
The day will come - a sad day, they say!
They'll finish ruling, finish crying, burn away -
Chilled with the others' nickels all the same -
My eyes, moveable like the flame.
And - like a double as his double he does sense -
The likeness will appear through light face.
O, I at last will merit thee,
A gorgeous belt of beauty!
And from afar - do I envy thee? -
Will pull, absently cristening,
A pilgrimage along the road black
To my hand, which I surely won't draw back,
To my hand, on which the ban no longer sits,
To my hand, that no more exists.
Your kisses, O the living ones,
I won't oppose at first - not one.
The majesty's shawl beautiful
Has shrouded me from head to heel.
Nothing will make me blush, today
I have a holy Easter day.
Along the streets of left-alone Moscow
I will drive forth, and you will slowly go.
And none will lag behind along the road,
And on coffin's roof will thunder the first stone -
And sleep, self-loving and lonely
Will be resolved finally.
And nothing will be needed to Marina
Our newly-introduced ballerina.
5
Above the city Peter cursed to hell
Rolled the delirious thunder of the bells.
Turned over thundering the high tide of the sea
Above the woman that was rebuked by thee.
To Peter and to you, O Tsar, praise be!
But bells are higher still than both of ye.
While they are ringing still out of the blue -
Indisputable, Moscow's primogeniture.
And sixteen hundred churches, near and far
All laugh at puny hubris of the tsars.
6
The rain of bells drizzles above
The blue of near-Moscow groves.
Blind men wander the Kaluga road -
Beautiful - Kaluga - song, and the same
Washes and washes the names
Of peaceful wanderers, in darkness of ones praising God.
And I think at these times: Someday I
Of you, friends, and you, enemies, having tired,
And of compliance of Russian word -
A silver cross on my chest I will don
Cross myself and quietly go along
The old Kaluga road.
7
Seven hills - just like seven bells!
Belltowers on the seven bells.
Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all.
Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills!
In the ringing, fine-gold day of John
The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread,
And around a hedge, and around a hedge,
And the churches there stand with golden heads.
And as nuns were pouring to dining hall,
The first ringing I did love, I did love
And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard
And hot sleep and noise in the stove.
Do conduct me, all you imbecile,
Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd!
Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still
With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground!
8
Moscow - what a giant
And strangely-mannered home!
In Russia all are homeless.
We all to you will come.
A knife behind a boot-leg,
A shoulder brand in shame.
From far away us all
You will call all the same.
Upon the penal brandings,
On every kind of ill -
A baby Panteleimon
We have, O man who heals,
And there behind that door,
Where all the people pour -
There the fine golden heart
Is burning of Iver.
And "Halleluiah" pours
Upon the fields grown tan.
I kiss you in the bosom,
O the Moscow land!
9
With a red brush
The mountain-ash burned:
The leaves were falling
And I was born.
Hundreds of belltowers
Argued at least.
It was the Saturday:
John the Baptist.
And in my teeth now
I want to crush
The hot ashberry's
Bitter brush.
From Cycle "Insomnia"
1
In a shady ring my eyes
She surrounded - insomnia.
With a shady wreath insomnia
Did my eyes bind.
At night - the same!
To idols don't pray.
Idol-worshipper - I'll give
Your secret away.
To you - day's not enough,
Fire of sun above!
You pale-faced one, wear
My rings' pair!
You screamed - and proclaimed
The wreath of shade.
Enough - did you - call me?
Enough - did you - sleep with me?
People bow to you.
Light in face you'll lie.
I'll be reader to you,
I, insomnia:
Sleep, soothed,
Sleep, rewarded one,
Sleep, wreathed,
Woman.
That - you would sleep - easy,
I will sing - to thee:
"Never-silent one,
Go to sleep, my girl,
You the sleepless one,
Sleep, my little pearl."
And to whom we didn't write letters so,
And to whom we did not vow..
Sleep.
Here now parted are
The inseparable.
Here released from arms
Are your little arms.
Here you're tormented,
My dear tormentess.
Sleep's - holy.
All - sleep.
Wreath's - gone.
2
In my giant city it is night.
From the sleepy home I alight
People think: Daughter and wife
And I recall just this: Night.
On my way blows the wind of July
And somewhere music in a window - barely.
Ah, now the wind will blow until dawn
Into the chest through the chest's thin wall.
There's light on the window, and a black poplar,
A flower in the hand, and ringing in the tower,
And this step nobody behind,
And this my shade, but me you can't find.
Fires - like threads of golden beads,
Taste of night leaf between my teeth.
Free me from shackles of the day,
That I'm your dream, friends, understand.
3
After a sleepless night the body gets weaker,
It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's.
Just like a seraph you smile to people
And arrows moan in the slow arteries.
After a sleepless night the arms get weaker
And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe.
Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each
Sudden sound is the whole rainbow.
Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden
Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked
This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night
Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark.
4
This night today I am alone in the night -
A sleepless and a homeless nun!
This night today I have the keys
Of all the gates of capital, just one!
The sleeplessness has pushed me on the way.
O, dusky Kremlin, how you're beautiful!
I kiss into the chest this night today
The whirling-round ground as it does howl!
The stifling wind blows straight into the soul,
The hair arises - not the hair, but down.
Those who are pitied and those who are kissed -
This night today I pity everyone.
5
A window here again
Where they don't sleep again.
Maybe they thus sit,
Maybe they drink wine.
Or they would not part
Simply the two hands.
There is such a window
In each house, friend.
Window in the night -
Partings', meetings' scream!
Maybe - hundred candles,
Maybe - only three.
And my restless mind
Cannot find its peace.
In my very home
Was begotten this.
Pray, friend, for the sleepless home
Behind a window with a flame!
From Cycle "Poems to Blok"
1
A bird in the hand is your name,
An icicle on the tongue is your name,
One movement of your lips is your name,
Five letters is your name.
A ball caught in the flight it is,
A silver tambourine between the lips,
A stone, into a quiet pond thrown,
Will sob the name by which you're known.
Your loud name resonates in the light
Crackling of the hooves in the night.
And a trigger with crackling ample
Will call it back into the temple.
Your name - forbid this! -
Your name - the eyes kiss,
In tender chill of motionless eyelids
Your name - to the snow give a kiss.
Key, ice, blue gulp - deep
With your name is the sleep.
2
A knight without reproach,
A ghost, a gentle one,
Who is it that called you
Into my life so young?
In fog greyish-blue
Dressed in a chausible
Of snow, stand you.
Around the city
By the wind I'm chased,
For the third evening
A thief I sensed.
The blue-eyed
Singer of snow
Stared at me so.
The snow-white swan
Puts down under my feet. Flow
Feathers
And slowly fall on the snow.
Thus on the feathers
I walk to the door
Behind which is death.
Beyond blue windows
He sings to me,
With far-away tambourines
He sings to me,
With far-off cry
With swan's cry
He calls.
My dear ghost!
All's my dream, I know.
Do a good thing:
Amen, amen, scatter so!
Amen.
3
You walk out to the Falling Sun,
You'll see the evening light,
You walk out to the Falling Sun,
And the snowstorm the trace blots out.
Past the windows - passionless -
In the quiet snow you will go,
My beautiful believer in true God,
Quiet to the light of my soul.
I do not lust after your soul!
Your footpath is inviolable.
Into the arm, white from the kisses,
I will not hammer my nail.
And I will not respond to the name,
And I will not pull with my arm,
To the sacred image of wax
I will only bow from afar.
And, standing under the slow snow,
I will fall on my knees in the snow,
And in your holy name
I will kiss the evening snow -
There, where with a majestic foot
In the coffin quiet you did go,
Quiet to light - holy glories -
You the keeper of my soul.
4
To beast - a den,
To wanderer - road
To dead one - quay
To each - their own way.
To a woman - to connive,
To the king - to rule,
To me - to glory
Your name.
5
Cupolas are burning in Moscow!
Bells are ringing here in Moscow!
And coffins here stand in row -
In them queens do sleep, and the kings.
And you do not know, in Kremlin at dawn
Breathing's lighter - than on all the earth!
And you do not know, in Kremlin at dawn
Till the dawn I pray and sing.
And you walk on by this your Nieva
At the time, when on river Moskva
I stand and my head bow
And the flashlights cling.
With insomnia I am loving you,
With insomnia I am hearing you -
Of the time when, on the whole Kremlin too
Awaken those who ring..
But my river - with your river flows,
And my arm - with your arm goes
They won't come together, Oh my joy
Dawn catches dawn until.
6
They thought he was a man!
And they forced him to die.
He died forevermore.
About a dead angel, cry!
He sang the evening beauty
At sundown of the day.
Shimmer hypocritically
Three waxen flames.
Rays went from him -
On the snow, hot strings!
Three candles of wax -
To the sun! Light-bearing!
O look now, how his
Dark eyelids have sunken in!
O look now, how his
Wings are broken!
The black reader reads,
Crosses the arms idle...
The dead singer lies
And celebrates Sunday.
7
Like a weak ray through black gloom of the hells -
Thus is your voice against exploding cannonballs.
And in the thunder, just like some seraph
Announces in a voice tone-deaf -
Somewhere from foggy mornings long ago -
How he did love us blind and nameless so -
For sin - disloyalty, for coat of blue..
For how, Russia, he did not stop loving you,
And more tender than all - that, the most deep
Into night vanished he to do the wicked deeds!
And near the temple - how with a lost pen
He leads and leads.. and about that then,
What days await us, how God will tell lies,
How you will call the sun - and it won't rise!
Thus, as one with prisoner
(Or child is silent in the sleep no more)
Before us came - on square wide and far -
Alexander Blok's holy heart.
8
Here is he - look - tired of the foreign lands,
A chief without friends.
Here -drinks from mountain rapids with his hand -
A knight with no land.
There's all for him: knighthood, and land,
Mother, and bread.
Great's your inheritance - so rule this land,
Friend without friends!
9
His friends - do not bother him!
His servants - do not bother him!
It was so evident on his face:
Not from this world does my kingdom come.
Eternal snowstorms circled the veins
Hunched-over shoulders bent from the wings,
In singing cut, into baked-over flame
He let his soul go like a swan.
Fall then, O fall then, copper heavy!
Wings are ordained correctly: To fly!
Lips, that have shouted the word: Respond! -
They know, that this is not there - to die!
He drinks the dawn, drinks the sea - in full
Revels. - Don't serve the requiem!
Of one who forever ordered: Be! -
There is enough bread left to feed him!
10
Not a broken rib -
A broken wing.
Not to the shooters shot -
Through chest. Not to take out
This bullet. Wing can't be repaired.
He walked impaired.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Sticky is crown of thorns on the head!
What is the noise of mob to one dead,
The swan's down of woman's flattery...
He walked, deaf and lonely,
Freezing over the sunsets
With emptiness of eyeless statues.
But one thing still lived in him:
The broken wing.
11
Without word, without call -
Like a thatcher from the roof falls.
And maybe, again
He comes - you lie in the cradle?
You burn and don't dim,
The light of weeks several..
Which of the mortals
Rocks your cradle?
The blessed heaviness!
Singing chestnut that prophesies!
Oh, who will tell me
In which cradle you lie?
"While it's not sold!"
With jealousy in my head
With a great detour
I'll walk the Russian land.
The midnight countries
Will go from end to end.
Where's his wound the mouth,
His eyes' bluish lead?
Take him! Hold tightly!
To love him and love him only!
O, who will whisper
In which cradle you lie?
Pearly grains,
Muslin shade full of sleep.
Not laurel but thorn -
Sharp-toothed shade of a cap.
Not angel, but bird
Opened two white wings!
And to be born once more,
That could be swept by the wind?!
Tear him! Hold tightly!
Just don't give away! Hold high!
Oh, who will breathe to me
In which cradle you lie?
And maybe false is
My feat, and my labor futile.
How you're put in the ground,
Maybe - you'll sleep till pipe call.
The giant indenture
Of your temples - catches my sight.
Such an exhaustion -
Can't be lifted even with pipes!
The country pasture,
Rusty, quiet reliably.
The janitor will show me
In which cradle you lie.
12
Like drunk, like sleepy
Unawares, without caution,
The dimples of temples:
Sleepless conscience.
Empty eye sockets:
All dead and light.
Empty glass of a dreamer
And man with second sight.
Not you on
Still rustling pile of garbage
Carried out -
Returning by Hades' gorge?
Did not this,
Ringing with a silver bell,
Head flow past
The sleepy Gebr?
13
Thus, O the Lord! And this my prayer
Accept for temple's confirmation.
I sing not pleasures of my love -
I sing the wound of my nation.
Not nasty person's rusty trunk -
Granite, with people's knees rubbed coarse.
Hero and king given to all,
To all - a singer - righteous - corpse.
Not bashful at the coffin boards,
Breaking upon Dnieper the ices,
Russia - on Easter we do swim
To you with pouring thousand-voices.
Thus, heart, there will be cry and praise!
Let your cry - which thousand?
The mortal love is jealous so.
The other's at the chorus glad.
To Akhmatova
1
O muse of weeping, the most beautiful muse!
O you the child of white night, ever mad and fierce!
A black snowstorm over Russia you send
And your cries our hearts like flying arrows pierce.
And we tumble down and a deaf "Oh" -
A hundred thousand people your name are calling:
Anna Akhmatova! The name is a giant sigh,
And she who is nameless into the abyss is falling.
We're blessed that along with you we walk the same
Earth, that the sky is the same overhead;
And he, who is wounded with your mortal fate,
As an immortal goes onto his deathbed.
In my singing city the cupolas are aflame,
And wandering blind man praises the Spassky light..
And I give to you my city that's full of bells,
Akhmatova, and my heart I give to you beside.
2
What are people's wiles to me? Holding
My head I stand,
On late dawn I sing
Holding my head.
Ah, I have been raised on the crest
Of a wave wrathful and mad!
I sing you, that you are alone among us,
Like moon overhead!
That, having flown like a raven on the heart,
Pierced the clouds so.
Hook-nosed one, whose wrath is deadly and
Whose mercy's deadly also.
That over my Kremlin made of fine gold
Has spread out her night,
That tied my neck as if with a belt
With singing delight.
Ah, I am happy! Never the dawn
Had been more clear,
Ah, I am happy, that for your sake
I'm leaving as a beggar -
That you, whose voice, narrowed my breath -
O depth, O haze -
That by the name I called
The Village of the Tsar muse.
3
Just one more gigantic flap -
Eyelids are quiet.
O, dear body! O the ash
Of bird so light!
I sang and waited, what I did
In fog of day.
So little body was in her,
And so much sigh.
Her dreamy sleepiness is not
Humanly dear.
Something of eagle and of angel
There was in her.
She sleeps, and chorus lulls her to
Garden of Eden.
As if he's not sated with song,
The sleeping demon!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Hours, days, centuries - Not us,
Not our rooms yet.
And monument does not recall
Already, bent.
The broom is doing naught for long,
And sweetly heave
Over the Muse of Village of the Tsar
The nettle's leaves.
4
Mother's name is Anna,
Lev - of the child.
In his name is fury,
In her is quiet.
Red is his hair -
Tulip's head!
So, Hossanah
To the little tsar!
God give him lungs
And the smile of Mom
And a look of
Pearl-seeking one.
God, attentively
Look after him:
Tsar's son's more divine
Than the other sons.
Red lion-cub
With green eyes,
Heavy burden is on your head!
Northern and Southern oceans
And thread of pearl
Black rosary is in your hand.
5
You repeat nobody. How many
Companions and friends! And
Pride and bitterness rule over
This youth so tender.
Remember the crazy day at the port
Threats of the Southern wind,
Roar of the Caspian - and in the mouth
A rose's wing.
Like a gypsy I gave to you
A stone in a cut frame,
Like a gypsy I lied to you
Something about fame..
And - high at the sails -
Teenager in blue blouse.
Thunder of sea and the menacing call
Of the wounded Muse.
6
You won't leave alone! I'm a warden,
You're an escort. The fate is one.
And one in the frigid empty
Order for horses is to us given.
And my temperament is peaceful!
And clear are my eyes!
Let me go, Mr. Escort, now
To take a walk to that pine!
7
That from catafalques and from cribs
You, ripping away the cover,
You that fan the winds
And snowstorms send over,
Sending fevers, poems and wars -
Serf-keeper! Black magician! -
I have heard the menacing roar
Of lions, of the chariot preaching.
I hear voices in passionate tones -
And a steadfastly silent one.
I see the red sails -
And a black one them among.
Either by ocean you lead the way,
With the full breast - or by air
I, like sun, wait, holding out my chest
To the judgment that does death bear.
8
People shouted on the street,
Smoke flew from the bakery place.
I remembered the ruby mouth
Of a street singer with narrow face.
In the dark kerchief with flowers -
Honored by your civility
You were drowned in the crowd
Of praying ones at Sergei-Trinity,
Pray for me, beautiful one,
Sorrowful one and mad,
How the forests will crown you as
The lashing mother of god.
9
To the golden-lipped Anne - to a word
That all of Russia redeems!
Carry away my voice
And my heavy sigh, wind.
About quiet bow of the earth among
Golden fields, O the burning skies,
Tell the story; and also about
From the agony blackened eyes.
You attained once again
In the thundering height!
You - the nameless one!
Carry love of mine
To the gold-lipped Anne -
All of Russia!
10
At the thin wire over oats' wave
Like thousand voices - is the voice today!
And - holy, holy, holy - tabors passing by
Speak with the same voice, O the holy,
I stand and I listen and I rub the corn ear,
And voice locks me up with a dark cupola.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Not these branches of swimming willows
But your arm I truly touch so.
For all, who in torment your approach glory -
The earthly woman, a cross in the sky to me!
At night curtsies to you alone I bear,
And with your eyes from the walls the icons stare!
11
You'll overtake the Sun in the sky,
In your hand all the stars!
Ah, if - only to enter you
Like a wind - door ajar!
And to tremble, and burst out,
And sharply to dull the sight,
And, like a forgiven child,
To sob and to go quiet.
12
I have been given arms - to each one to stretch both,
Not to hold tight not with one, lips - to give names,
Eyes - not to see, the high eyebrows above them -
To tenderly marvel at love, and more still at not love.
And this the bell there, heavier than the Kremlin's,
Ceaselessly walking and walking around in the chest -
This - who knows? - I don't know - maybe - it must be -
I will not become a guest on the Russian soil!
x x x
I'll conquer you from all lands, from all the sky,
Because forest is my cradle and in the forest I'll die,
For I stand on the ground with just one of my legs,
For I will sing to you like no one else.
I'll conquer you from all times, I will fight
All golden banners, all swords and all nights,
I will chase away dogs from a porch and I'll throw the key
For in winter night not even dogs are more loyal than me.
I'll conquer you from all others - from that one
I will be no one's wife, you - no one's groom,
And in the last argument I will take you - be quiet! -
From the one with which Jacob stood in the night.
But for now I won't on your chest the fingers cross -
With you, you remain - O the curse! -
Your two wings, that at the ether take aim -
Because the world is your cradle, and world your grave.
x x x
To you, my rival, I will come sometime
At night when moon is standing overhead
When frogs are wailing loudly on the pond
And women are from pity going mad.
And, marveling at the beating of the eyelids
And on your jealous eyelashes, it seems,
I'll tell you that I'm not a human being
But just a vision which you only dream.
And I will say: "Console me, console,
Someone is beating nails into my heart!"
And I will say to you that wind is fresh
And that the stars over our heads are hot.
To Jews
Who did not stomp on you - who did not melt you -
O merchant of the non-flammable roses!
One thing unshakable on this planet
Did allow behind him Jesus:
Israel! Your second kingdom's coming:
For all the money, if they only knew,
You paid with all your blood - you are the heroes,
The traitors, prophets, and the traders too.
In each of you - Even in him that counts
His gold before a candle in the dark -
The voice of Jesus resonates more loudly
Than in John, Matthew, Luke and Mark.
Around the earth - from ocean to ocean -
Crucifixion and from the cross taking down -
We'll give Jesus Christ a true burial,
Israel, with the last one of your sons!
x x x
You, measuring me by days,
With, hot and homeless, me,
Wandered under the giant moon
Upon the squares heated strongly?
And in the tavern filled with plague,
When solemn waltz a sound did make,
Did you not in a drunken fist
My piercing fingers verily break?
With which voice in my sleep do I
Whisper - you heard? - O smoke and ash! -
What can you know of me, since you
With me did not sleep or get trashed?
x x x
August - asters,
August - stars,
August - bunches
Of grapes and ashberry
Rusty - August!
Like a child, August
You play with your apple
Good-natured and full of weight.
Like with hand, with your imperial
Name you do caress the heart:
August! - Heart!
Month of late kisses,
Of late roses and late lightning!
Of the rain beneath the stars
August! - Month
Of the rain beneath the stars!
Don Juan
1
Under the sixth birch
At the corner church
On the frosty dawn
Wait, Don Juan!
But with groom, alas,
And my life I swear,
There is nowhere
In my land to kiss!
We don't have a fountain,
And the well did freeze,
Strict, severe eyes
Does Madonna have.
And so that the beauties
Trifles would not hear
We have loud and clear
Ringing of the bell.
Here I would have lived,
But - I will grow old,
You don't like my world
O the handsome one.
Ah, in a bear coat
It's hard to recognize you,
If not for your lips too,
O Don Juan!
2
Long upon the foggy dawn
The snowstorm did weep.
In a bed of snow they lay
Don Juan to sleep.
No hot stars above his head,
Not a roaring fountain..
Othodox cross is on the chest
Of our Don Juan.
I have brought a Sevillian
Fan, black, so that night
That's eternal, for yourself
Would become more light.
That you'd see a woman's beauty
With your own sight,