Писала я на... - перевод М. Цветаевой
I wrote on the devil's board,
And on the leaflets of the faded fans,
And on the river sand, or of the ocean,
With skates on ice, with ring on glass, -
And also on trunks, aged to the hundred winters,
At last, - for everybody's learning! -
That you are loved! loved! loved! loved! really...
I signed with a rainbow's colours over.
How I did wish, that every sign would blossom
During the centuries! under my fingers well!
And later I did bent the table over
With my forehead,and crossed your name...
But you, in hand of the all-selling writer
Clamped! You, the thing that stings my heart!
Unsold by me! that ring inside!
You - will be saved in the tables thus!
And on the leaflets of the faded fans,
And on the river sand, or of the ocean,
With skates on ice, with ring on glass, -
And also on trunks, aged to the hundred winters,
At last, - for everybody's learning! -
That you are loved! loved! loved! loved! really...
I signed with a rainbow's colours over.
How I did wish, that every sign would blossom
During the centuries! under my fingers well!
And later I did bent the table over
With my forehead,and crossed your name...
But you, in hand of the all-selling writer
Clamped! You, the thing that stings my heart!
Unsold by me! that ring inside!
You - will be saved in the tables thus!
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