Four Seasonal Poems (1913-22)
Dream
I dreamed of autumn in the windows’ half-light
and you among a joking crowd of friends
and, like a falcon that’s got blood from the sky,
my heart began descending to your hand.
But time moved on, becoming deaf and old,
and, setting silver lace around the frames,
dawn from the garden overwhelmed the panes
with tear-drops of September, drops of blood.
But time moved on, becoming old. The icefrail
sofa-silk began to crack and melt.
Suddenly you, so loud, stopped short, went quiet,
the dream fell silent, like the trace of a bell.
I woke. Daybreak was autumn-dark. The departing
wind – like rain that runs behind a cart
carrying straws – was carrying a line
of birch-trees running straight across the sky.
Translated by Angela Livingstone
Page(s) 117-118
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