When my time comes at last to go, I will leave my shadow behind, And ascend to the sun I know, To a gathering place assigned. And looking on the world below, At my watery self unmade, All desires will lose their glow In the light where illusions fade. There...
И пела словно первая гроза “...And she sang like the first thunderstorm...” —Anna Akhmatova Even the candle at the Virgin’s feet will tremble, waver, gutter and subside, although our tears refuse to disappear. Even the hours of midnight’s wake recede to welcome morning’s crepuscular gift, since every...
