Night

Perhaps you not need me not this minute,
Night; from sea foams of the world - 
A shell without a pearl within it - 
Upon your shores I have been hurled.  

With mists the ocean you embellish 
And, stuttering, you sing as well; 
But you will love, and you will cherish 
The pretense of a useless shell.  

On ocean sands you lie next to her 
You dress her in a misty haze 
And with tight roping you tie to her 
A bell, gigantic, made of bronze,  

And then the seashell, fragile, empty - 
A lonely heart that beats in vain - 
You fill with sea foam's whispers plenty, 
With fog with wind and with light rain.

By Osip Mandelshtam
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat 
https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat