Leaves scarcely breathing
in the black breeze;
the flickering swallow
draws circles in the dusk.
In my loving
dying heart
a twilight is coming,
a last ray, gently reproaching.
From Stone 24 by Osip Mandelstam, trans. by Clarence Brown & W.S. Merwin, The selected poems of Osip Mandelstam
Summer, Gustave Doré, 1860-70
2 comments:
Gorgeous and gorgeous.
Well picked. As always.
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