Perhaps you not need me not this minute, Night; from sea foams of the world - A shell without a pearl within it - Upon your shores I have been hurled. With mists the ocean you embellish And, stuttering, you sing as well; But you will love, and you will cherish The pretense of a useless shell. On ocean sands you lie next to her You dress her in a misty haze And with tight roping you tie to her A bell, gigantic, made of bronze, And then the seashell, fragile, empty - A lonely heart that beats in vain - You fill with sea foam's whispers plenty, With fog with wind and with light rain. By Osip Mandelshtam Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat
