The House
From knitted brows
Looks - my house,
As day of youth
Is greeting me.
As youth itself:
'Hello! It's me! '
Well-known forehead
Under the coat
Of ivy spread,
Confused by weight.
Was not in vain
The wade through mud
To this, it's plain,
Suggested hut.
The house
Like museum - old,
It's attic front -
Like Apollon
From ancient myth.
It'll shade me all
From noisy street,
So merged in poetry
Behind a tree.
It's eyes like panes,
So green and dim.
They looked for ages
At orchard bleak.
The glasses could
Prevent the guest
By their mood
To hold a test.
They ain't reflect
The world aside:
The mirrors best -
To look inside.
From knitted brows
Looks - my youth,
The nature - gown,
Nature sooth,
The nature - beads,
The nature - eyes
The nature - cries
Between the heaps
Of house walls,
The remnant blinks
Of junior soul
On linden leaves...
poem by Marina Tsvetaeva (06 September 1931), translated by Lyudmila Purgina
Added by Poetry Lover
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