The cold, the night, November Посвящение жене

The cold, the night, November, and the dark,
Your touch — a sudden, softly blazing spark.
The sweet, sweet madness of your tender lips...
I beg of time: stand still, unmake eclipse,
Away from all the world, in our small tower.

You crashed into my life with smiling grace,
A gentle, radiant light upon my face.
And in that moment, meeting gaze with gaze,
I knew I stood no chance against that blaze;
No strength, no will, no shield, no measured line
Could keep your heart from intertwining mine.

The globe will not stop turning for our plea,
The rivers will not change their course for me.
Yet still I whisper: time, stay where you are,
Do not betray this fleeting, fragile star,
And let me hold this woman, fierce and true,
With all the strength my mortal arms can do.

That moment paused, then lingered, drawing near,
A breath between the ticking of the sphere.
A chance, a twist of fate grew bright and clear,
And from that instant, quietly defined,
There blossomed “us” from “yours” and “mine” combined,
A common life from two once-separate minds.

The globe still spins indifferent to our plea,
The rivers keep their ceaseless, onward flee.
But in this turning world, both wild and coarse,
I cling to you with unrelenting force,
And hold this woman, fragile, fierce, and bright,
Against the cold, the silence, and the night.