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
[...] Read more
poem by Marina Tsvetaeva (06 September 1931), translated by Lyudmila Purgina
Added by Poetry Lover
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