Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva (8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)
Books In Red Binding
From heaven of a childhood life
A farewell to me you're sending,
The ever-loyal dear friends
Within a red worn down binding.
On learning homework from school,
At once I ran to see you yet.
'It's late' - 'Please, Mother, ten more lines' -
But happily she did forget.
The fires flicker in a lamp..
How nice it is to read at home!
To sounds of Greeg, Schumann and Kui
I learned about the fate of Tom.
It's dark.. the air is growing cold..
Tom's full of faith in Becky's joy.
Within the darkness of the cave
Wanders with torch Indian Joe..
A cemetery.. owl is screaming..
(I'm scared) And now through hassocks flies
The punctilious widow's foster-child,
Like in a barrel Diogenes.
Lighter than Sun is the throne hall,
Over the graceful boy - a crown..
At once - a beggar! God! He said:
'Forgive, I'm heir to the throne.'
To darkness comes, who comes from her.
Sad is the destiny of Britain..
O, wherefore not amid red books
Not to go back to sleep again
Before a lamp? O golden times
Where sight is braver, heart is purer:
O golden times, I say again:
Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer, Prince and Beggar!
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