We’ve done enough, we’ve said enough –
let’s sit in silence, without smiling;
low-lying clouds are shedding snow
and heaven’s light is slowly fading.
The brittle willows rage and split
in an unspeakable pitched battle.
‘Until tomorrow, then,’ I say.
‘As for today, let’s call it settled.’
Even if boundlessly at fault,
I wish – not dreaming, not entreating –
to stare out at the fields of white
through windows swathed in cotton fleecing.
While you, show off your beauty, shine…
assure me that I have your pardon –
shine with that stream of eventide
around which everything has hardened.
by Иннокентий Фёдорович Анненский (Innokenty Fyodorovich Annensky)
translated by Boris Dralyuk
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