In Paris
The houses are close to sky,
And sky is lower to earth - attraction?
In great and joyful Paris town
I feel the same and secret anguish.
The boulevards keep noise in evening,
The last ray of the sun is gone.
And everywhere you see people,
Walking in pairs, in accord.
I am alone here. Its so sweety
To lean to chestnut with my head!
And in my heart the Rostand's greetings
In verses, as in Moscow left.
And Paris in the night is alien and poor,
The previous delirium is better to my heart!
I'm going to home - the voilets're there,
And someone's portrait smart!
There a look in a sad-brer's manner,
There a profile on the wall.
Rostand and martyr of the Reidt there,
And Sara - will in dream come all!
In great and joyful Paris I am dreaming
About green grass and white clouds.
And then - the laugh, shadows nearer,
And pain is deep, as long before time.
poem by Marina Tsvetaeva (June 1909, Paris), translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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