Домики старой Москвы - пер. М. Цветаевой

The little houses of old Moscow
by Marina Tsvetaeva

The glory of grandmothers languid -
The houses little of Moscow,
From lanes old you disappear,
As palaces icy by magic words,

By one beconing of a magic staff,
By one spell  - forever had gone.
Where are the painted ceilings now
And mirrors up to ceilings from floor?

Where are the ringing chords of a hapsichord,
The dark curtains in flower pattens,
And muzzles magnificent so
On century old gloomy gates?

The curles, leaned over the embroidery,
And looks of the portraits with glare...
And drumming with finger on fenster
Is strange so, while walking there...

The little houses with a breed mark,
With watchmen, guarding the doors,
Were changed by the heavy dark giants -
By monsters, with the six floors.

That is the right of the owners!
And so you are ruined at all,
The languish of grandmother's glory,
The houses little of Moscow.

1911