Twilight was turning to darkness outside.
Under the eaves a window banged wide.
A curtain was lifted, a light briefly shone,
a swift shadow fell down the wall and was gone.
Happy the man who falls head first to death:
at least for a moment his viewpoint is fresh.
by Владислав Фелицианович Ходасевич (Vladislav Felitsianovich Khodasevich)
(1922)
translated by Michael Frayn
Rambling At The Bridge Head 