Homes reach the stars, the sky's below, <br />The land in smoke to it is near. <br />Inside the big and happy Paris <br />Remains the secretive despair. <br /> <br />The evening boulevards are noisy, <br />Gone are the sundown's final rays, <br />And there are couples everywhere <br />Trembling of lips, daring of eyes. <br /> <br />I'm here alone. To trunk of chestnut <br />It is so nice one's head to lean! <br />And like in the abandoned Moscow <br />In heart weep verses of Rostand. <br /> <br />Paris at night is sad and alien, <br />Dear to the heart is madness gone! <br />I'm going home, there's vial of sorrow <br />And tender portrait of someone. <br /> <br />There's someone's glance, sad and fraternal. <br />There's tender profile on the wall. <br />Rostand and the Reichstadtian martyr <br />And Sara - in sleep come they all! <br /> <br />Within the big and happy Paris <br />I dream of grass, of clouds and rain <br />And laughter far, and shadow near, <br />And deep just like before is pain.<br /><br />Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-paris/
