Do not speak of the north and its sadness
And a dread and malevolent fate.
Surely this is a festive occasion:
You and I, we are parting today.
Never mind that the moon will not haunt us,
And the dawn you and I will not meet.
I will shower you with gifts, my beloved,
Of a kind that have never been seen.
Take my wavering, dancing reflection
In the shimmery glass of a stream;
Take my gaze that the great, swooning stars
As they fall from the heavens arrests;
Take my voice, take its spent, broken echo,
Once so summery, youthful and fresh …
Take my gifts: they will help you to listen
Without pain to the gossiping birds
In the wet of a Moscow October,
And will turn autumn’s gloom to the languor
And the sweetness of May … O, my angel,
Think of me, think of me till the first
Flakes of snow start to waltz in the air …