Читать книгу In Praise of Poetry - Ольга Седакова - Страница 14

4. CHILDHOOD

I remember early childhood,

and a dream in a bed of gold.

A dream? Or perhaps truth:

someone sees me, someone

comes in quickly from the garden

and stands there, smiling.

“The world,” he says, “is a desert.

The human heart—a stone.

People love what they do not know.

Don’t forget me, Olga,

and I will forget no one.”