In Theodosian evening brume
This day of spring has gone for ages,
And shadows lengthen on the stages
At early dusk in all its bloom.
I step without a single thought,
And in my yearning almost breathless,
My both hands are hanging restless
And waving loose, by no one caught.
By Genoese stronghold walls
I step, allowing wind to kiss me
And silky waves of dress are whistling
Along my knees in ups and falls.
So humble is the ring's embrace,
So calling silently for care
The pick of violets I carry
And hold near my very face.
I step along the fortress wards
In yearning, spring-blown and shallow,
The wind is lingering the shadows
And hopelessness's seeking words.
Original: www.tsvetayeva.com/poems/nad_feodosijej