by Marina Tsvetaeva
To Anna goldenlipped -
To the all-Russian Redemptive Word, -
Wind, carry my voice, please
And my heavy sigh also.
Tell, please, the burning vault,
About the eyes, which are dark of pain,
And about the silent earthly bow
Amidst the crops golden.
And you, a green-watered forest's spring,
Tell, how at this night I looked into you -
And what face I have seen
With my own eyes, as truth.
You, who in the stormy height
Have been found again!
You! - Unnamed!
Carry my love
To Anna goldenlipped
- of all Russia!
27 june 1916
Here 'golden-lipped' is like the name of Ioann Chrysostomus