New stanzas to Augusta, X, XI

               
                "Новые стансы к Августе"
                (Иосиф Бродский)


                X
September. Night. With me a smolder.
But still the shadow looks over my shoulder
at sheets and romps into the rummaged
tree roots. And your ghost in the passage
gurgles with water, strays
and smiles with a star
through doors left by a gust ajar.

Above me light decays.
Water sews up the trace.

                XI
Yes, yearns for you increasingly the heart,
and therefore gets increasingly apart.
And my voice gets more and more fake.
You can consider it a debt to fate,
the fate requiring no blood
and wounding with a needle everblunt.
And if you're waiting for a smile – well!
I'll smile. The smile at himself
is more enduring than a covered tomb
and lighter than a furnace fume.


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