Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей)

* * *

Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find 
The roots of last year's roses in my breast; 
I am as surely riper in my mind 
As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed. 
Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will, 
Call me in all things what I was before, 
A flutterer in the wind, a woman still; 
I tell you I am what I was and more.

My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air, 
My sky is black with small birds bearing south; 
Say what you will, confuse me with fine care, 
Put by my word as but an April truth,“
Autumn is no less on me that a rose 
Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes.

1. So She Came Back
2. The Last White Sawdust
3. When You, That at This Moment
4. She Filled Her Arms with Wood
5. Memory of Cape Cod

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