From the Silver Age: Osip Mandelstam

THY IMAGE, WAVERING…

Thy image, wavering, agonizing,
I could not perceive through the mist.
“My Lord!” I muttered by mistake,
Speaking without realizing.

The name of God, like some huge bird,
Took flight and left my breast.
In front of me the mist swirls thick,
An empty cage is left behind.

Osip Mandelstam (1881-1938)
translated by Bernard Meares

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