Perhaps you not need me, not this minute,
Night; from sea foams of the world -
A shell without a pearl within it -
Upon your shores I have been hurled.
With mists the ocean you embellish
And speechlessly you sing as well;
But you will love, and you will cherish
The pretense of a useless shell.
On ocean sands you lie next to her
In misty haze you dress her well
And with tight roping you tie to her
An oversized and brazen bell.
And then the seashell, fragile, empty,
Just like a heart that beats in vain
You fill with sea foam's whispers plenty,
With fog, with wind and with light rain.
(Ut: Tristia; oersetting Ilya Shambat)
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