||[21 Jan 2007|07:38pm]
I locked my entries up until 2005 today, and came across a poem by Olga Sedakova I'd once translated that I'd been searching for ever since, and could never recover. Sadly I'd preserved no title for it:
Who loves - will be loved,
Who serves, will be served,
If not now, then one day, later.
But better off are those that are thankful,
Who after serving leave without Rachel
Joyous, to the green mountains.
Thou, Word, are the dress of an emperor,
The cloth of patience short and long,
Higher than heaven, gayer than the sun.
Our eyes cannot tell
Thy beloved colour,
The rustle of thy folds
A human ear cannot hear,
A heart merely quoths unto itself:
Ye are free, and will be freed,
And cannot be held accountable in front of slaves.