I’d like to ask the mirrored glass, -
All hazy, mystical, and foggy, -
To show exactly where you’ll pass
And where you’ll stop for lodging.
I look and see: An old ship’s mast.
There, on the deck, you’re standing…
You, by the clouded train… The vast,
Green fields, at night, lamenting…
The evening countryside in dew,
There, ravens soar in flight…
--My dear one, I am blessing you
To go where you decide!
May 3, 1915
By Marina Tsvetaeva
Translation by Andrey Kneller
Marina Tsvetaeva >