But do not repeat on Christmas night
o tom, that you can lose a lot,
that this cannot be prevented,
to turn his life into a cow.
Like you're stung and blinded,
after a white cow curls after
buzzing sky wasp,
silence holy heaven,
in vain are you, silently, бежал
terrible, but the best of stings,
in vain you don't feel one thing:
Suffering and oblivion - trash,
Suffering was not worth sin.
Do you feel a big panic
the immortal pursuit of the soul,
chase, so as not to wait for time,
for the benefit, to convey feelings
in an instant, grabbing whiskey,
in your age by longing,
so that feelings, flashed through the night,
dressed in silver airmail.
Feel it all in the snow
in the entrance, Petrograd telepath,
and open-minded feelings are ridiculous,
twine from war to war,
he whispers, around the summer garden:
unthinkable my Polish addressee.

Thy love is a fairie pupil,
thy beloved - the present Orpheus,
and your image - the photographer’s moment,
your voice is distant dixieland.
Walking in the botanical garden,
beloved singing in hell,
beloved singing through a dream, –
two voices, sounding in unison,
organ freezing lead,
wedding flowers, all over the crown,
your soul is beautiful and quiet,
thy soul knows no sin,
your soul is still on the way,
still loving in the flesh.

Nothing will crush your soul.
Remember, that your soul sins!
Your soul is unheard of ill.
Remember, that your soul is alone.
From the wedding train end
your souls unheard of crown,
your soul wedding flowers,
shiny thorn bushes.
Your soul will forgive you,
the soul will bring you up to a girl,
your soul will burn the fig tree,
thy soul will embrace and lie,
your soul will exalt you,
the soul will save from Doomsday!

Whose singing sounds through the windows?
Beloved by the windows screaming.
His soul follows him soars.
The soul will lead him back.
How strange you look afterwards.
Really, you wander all day,
your soul followed you, как тень,
hovering around the room, if you sleep,
your soul afterwards like a mouse.
Subsequently you are again a swimmer,
subsequently "mysterious singer" –
your soul does not believe in nonsense, –
subsequently you are a wanderer upstairs.

So, girl to decide to donate,
your love, fearing your soul,
trembling under black trees,
completely afterwards flees you.
Outside the window, ripples,
there is something running away from you,
you look at a rusty ledge,
you are not looking outside, and down,
you look out of the window of love after,
you see yourself - self portrait,
you see the heavens and the shadows of feelings,
you see diabase and black bush,
you see this tree and hell,
no one is to blame for this graph.

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Joseph Brodsky
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