You will not return to me even for Tamara,
For our little daughter, that sweet little thing:
You have summer houses and you eat lobster now,
You are under protection of a raven's wing.

You will not return to me: Velvet dresses you wear;
They the winglessness of tired shoulders disguise...
You will not return to me: on the cards the soothsayer
For a ruble put out the flash of final rays...

You will not return to me, even to say so long -
On the casket you'll wet the shawl in offense...
You will not return to me in a dress made of cotton -
Like a cheap flower, a quiet, joyful-pitiful dress.

Like a flower... recall roses of muslin paper?
Living have not a half word at a grave plate.
You will not return to me: dreams are mages no longer -
I will die all alone, do you understand that?

By Igor Severyanin
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat

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