Margarita Aliger

I pray, just come more often in my dreams.
My sleep’s then full of so warming beams,
so full of good as if there were ne’er else
all those looming to the mount years,
all those looming to the mount pains,
from which we saw where the borders lie   
of earth and heaven, truthfulness and lie,
and where’s that steep o’er which then in advance 
our lots, like horses, soared in a prance,
and you, not even looking at me back,
did not rein in your charger in his break.   


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April, 2001