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1967

651. Юрий Терапиано (1892–1980). «Куда ни погляжу, везде…»

No matter where I look, I find dimensions perfect everywhere: a star is wondrously designed, crystals are regular and fair. Foolish, the beating heart, alone, is not concerned with star or beam; it will not cease to long and moan, it's built on quite a different scheme.

[1960s]

652. Юрий Терапиано (1892–1980). «Поднимись на высокую гору…»

Climb atop of the loftiest mountain, gaze about from the peak where you stand toward the sheen of the sunset in autumn, and the sweep of the far land. There is soundless music around you, contemplation and stillness are deep. It is evening. Mountain ranges darken, waiting for quiet and sleep.

[1960s]

653. Марина Цветаева(1892–1941). «Черная, как зрачок, как зрачок сосущая…»

Black, like the pupil of an eye, like the pupil, sucking light — I love you, vigilant night. Give me voice to sing of you, oh original mother of songs, holding the reins of four winds in your palm. Calling you, glorifying you, I am only a sea-shell, where the sound of the ocean has not yet been stilled. Night! I've already looked long enough into the pupils of man! Now reduce me to ashes, oh black sun, — night!

[1960s]

654. Марина Цветаева (1892–1941). «Знаю, умру на заре! На которой из двух…»

I know I will die at dawn, or at sunset — which of the two, at which of the two — this cannot be foreordained! Oh, if it only could be that my torch would be dimmed both at sunset and sunrise, together, at once! Dancing I walked over Earth! — the sky's own daughter! Full of roses, my apron! Never a broken twig! I will die at sunset or dawn! God won't send the night hawk for my soul — the soul of a swan! Moving the unkissed crucifix gently aside with my hand, I will rush toward the generous sky for the ultimate greeting. A slit of the dawn — and a slit of my smile in reply… … In the hiccough of death, a poet still, — I!

[1960s]

655. Марина Цветаева (1892–1941). «На кортике своем: Марина…»