A quarter century has passed abroad
and hope has become a joke.
The radiant starscape above Nice
is permanently my native sky.
The stillness of the blissful South,
the murmur of waves, the golden wine...
But a Petersburg blizzard is singing
in the snow-plastered window,
that the prophecy of a dead friend
will surely come to pass.
"We shall meet again in Petersburg,
as though we had buried the sun there." - O Mandelshtam
Georgy Ivanov (1894 - 1958) Russia
Translated Harry Leeds
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