Читать книгу In Praise of Poetry - Ольга Седакова - Страница 47

7

All along the road, along the dusty road

I was walking and mourning, filled with grief—

you must know what it is to grieve. Do you?

When a stone shall swim as a fish,

then, I say, shall my soul

feel life and forgiveness.

The stone sails along like a boat,

blown by favorable winds,

righting its small gold sail,

its bright nettle-like wings,

its gold oars just barely glimpsed

in the distant, noisy sea.

And what was, will not be.

What will be is best of all.