By Osip Mandelstam
In this vague and poignant haze your image
Hardly I can touch with all my hand.
"Oh, my God!" - I said, mistaken, really
I thought that time in the other way.
The sacred name has flied out like a free bird
From my breast, which opened its door.
What's in future? Just the same clouds,
And the empty cage behind once more.
Образ твой, мучительный... - пер. О. Мандельштама
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112032405990
Свидетельство о публикации №112032405990
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