In Paris

Homes reach the stars, the sky's below, 
The land in smoke to it is near. 
Inside the big and happy Paris 
Remains the secretive despair.  

The evening boulevards are noisy, 
Gone are the sundown's final rays, 
And there are couples everywhere 
Trembling of lips, daring of eyes.

I'm here alone. To trunk of chestnut 
It is so nice one's head to lean! 
And like in the abandoned Moscow 
In heart weep verses of Rostand.  

Paris at night is sad and alien, 
Dear to the heart is madness gone! 
I'm going home, there's vial of sorrow 
And tender portrait of someone.  

There's someone's glance, sad and fraternal. 
There's tender profile on the wall. 
Rostand and the Reichstadtian martyr 
And Sara - in sleep come they all!  

Within the big and happy Paris 
I dream of grass, of clouds and rain 
And laughter far, and shadow near, 
And deep just like before is pain.  


By Marina Tsvetayeva
Translated by Ilya Shambat
https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat