Nite Tales

Such strange words That quiet April day brought me. You knew it was still alive in me, That dreadful week of passion. I heard no pealing of bells, Floating in clear azure, For seven days copper laughter chimed, Silvery sorrow streamed. And I, veiling my face, As if for eternal parting, Lay, awaiting there The still-nameless torment.

The road by the seaside garden darkens, The road by the seaside garden darkens, The lights are a fresh yellow. I’m at peace; but please, don’t talk To me about him. You’re kind and loyal, we’ll be friends… Walk, kiss, and be old… Coming days will fly over us, Lightly, like snowy stars.

‘If we can only reach the shore, My dear!’ – ‘Silently…’ And so we slipped down the stair, Not breathing, searching for keys. Past the place where we once Danced, and drank the wine, Past the Senate’s white columns, To where it was dark as a mine. ‘What are you doing, you’re crazy!’ – ‘No, just in love with you! This breeze – wide and windy, Will delight a boat or two!’ Throat constrained with horror, The skiff carried us in darkness… A sea-cable’s strong odour Scorched my quivering nostrils. ‘Tell me, you surely must know: Am I sleeping? So like a dream…’ Only the oars measured blows, On the Neva’s heavy stream. But the black sky lightened, Someone called from a bridge, With both hands I grasped The cross’s chain at my breast. Powerless, I was lifted, like A young girl, in your arms, Onto the white yacht’s deck, To meet day’s incorruptible charms.

The evening light is broad and yellow,’ The evening light is broad and yellow, Tender, the April chill. You are many years late, Yet I’m glad you are here. Sit down now, close to me, And look with joyful eyes: Here it is, the blue notebook – Filled with my childhood poems. Forgive me that I lived in sorrow, Rejoiced too little in the sun. Forgive, forgive, that I mistook Too many others for you.