What's use if I conceive the boulders
On some secluded distant shore,
With sunny spots on their shoulders
Awashed by running waves' galore?
Is it because I'm willed by someone
To fantasise this marine land,
The autumn wind, the salty odour,
The snowy gulls on virgin sand ?
How many words and feelings nameless
That world would ne'er heed at all,
Yet seen by heart in tortured sweetness -
And who are they? And whose this call ?
* * *
Что в том, что где-то на далеком