When chime and chill above the valley
Still green as dusk begins to shrink,
And sky depth, milky on the brink,
Blues in a dream not far away,
Abundant embrace of the ember
From passed-away bonfire wrecks
At stellar burial erects
A fire gate afront the entry,
Then to the shining candle anneal,
Along the streaming strand's appeal,
A moth unwilling runs ahead.
It's meeting straight the flame respire,
It's diving deep the wave of fire,
Alas, alas, it's lying dead.
Original: slova.org.ru/hlebnikov/kogdanadpolem/
The Meteor
© Copyright: Lxe, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116092103360
Свидетельство о публикации №116092103360
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