I'm looking in the face of frost alone:
He is - to nowhere, I'm - nowhere from,
A plain around is pressed, ironed out,
The living suface's any wrinkle without.
And sun is screwing it eyes in a starched poverty,
It's look is silent, and rather is consoling,
And that ten-valued woods are just the same as before...
The only snow is crackling in eyes, it is
Like the clean bread, so sinless...
16 Jan 1937
В лицо морозу я гляжу... - пер. О. Мандельштама
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112032406736
Свидетельство о публикации №112032406736
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