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To My Sister
to A. N. Annenskaya
Evening. The green nursery
With its low ceiling.
A boring German book.
Nurse with spectacles and darning.
It is as though I see a novel.
Yellowed, in a cheap edition...
I might even read the title
But for this fog.
You were still Alina,
With a rosy thought in your eyes,
In a dress with a wide collar,
A shawl grey over your shoulders.
In a chair, my arms around my knees,
I never tore my gaze from you.
I loved your hands,
Your fine-veined, tender hands.
The elusive flow of words
Was for me the music of the spheres...
And there I waited
For the scrape of your particular r...
In a brass candlestick, the tallow candle
Float's in Nurse's hands...
Dear to me, and quietly sad,
All this lives in my heart.
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