Vladislav Khodasevich

A blizzard roars behind my window,
Throws snow on my hut.
I play, like an idle widower,
With the wedding ring all night.

The old cat on chairs – his owing – 
Bend his back up, mute and bluff,
Behind walls, the blizzard roaming,
Knocks to me with its iced stuff. 

Winter nights with your hysteric’s rush!
Hate to look into your face …           
A little bear, my son of brown plush
Dropped his head on his soft breast.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2000