Читать книгу In Praise of Poetry - Ольга Седакова - Страница 35

THE FEAST

If he reads the stars,

or lays out stones, like cards,

and boils up sand and needles

to learn what comes

out of all that now is—

even so, he will discover very little.

Life—is a young wine.

No matter how much you drink,

it will not dull your mind

or loosen your tongue.

Better not even to start.

But when the candles are snuffed out

and everyone leaves to go home

or nods off at the table—

then it’s frightening to think

from whom you sought counsel,

and what matters you discussed,

where you have been, and why.