Deeblog

A poem ("In the evening") by this Russian poet.  You can read the original here.

Music graced the garden lea,
Woe and pain in furtive play;
Oysters iced upon a tray:
Fresh and piquant smelled the sea.

“Your eternal friend" — his words
As my dress he came to touch;
What embrace, that should mean much,
Could his hands disguise as birds?

Or as cats, beneath his strokes,
Female riders, circus acts?
As his golden lash refracts,
Calming laughs to his eyes' jokes.

Near the stretching fumes amassed
Came harsh voices like sad strings:
“Thank the heavens for all things,
With your love alone at last.”