If suddenly wandered into a stone grass,
looking better in marble, than reality,
il notice a faun, predavšegosâ driving
with nymph, both in bronze happier, than a dream,
you can let the staff of overworked hands:
you're in Empire, friend.

Air, flame, water, fauns, mollusk, lions,
taken from nature or from the head, –
all, God invented and tired to continue
brain, converted into a stone or metal.
This is - the end of things, it is - in the end of the road
mirror, to enter.

Stand up in a free niche and, zakativ eyes,
look, how to pass the century, disappearing behind
angle, and in the groin of moss
and shoulders rests the dust - the tan ages.
Someone will break away arm, and head and shoulders
roll down, stuc.

And it will remain a torso, unnamed amount of muscle.
A thousand years of living in a niche with the mouse
broken claw, not beating granite,
I went out one night, pisknuv, prosemenit
across the road, so as not to come into the hole
at midnight. no morning.


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Joseph Brodsky
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