I stare into the mirrored glass, —
by Marina Tsvetaeva

I stare into the mirrored glass,

All hazy, drowsy and foggy, —

To ascertain where you will pass

And where you’ll stop for lodging.

 

I look and see: An old ship’s mast.

There, on the deck, you’re standing . . .

You, by the clouded train . . . The vast,

Green fields, at night, lamenting . . .

 

The evening countryside in dew,

There, ravens soar in flight . . .

—My dear one, I am blessing you

To go where you decide!

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