Текст песни Марина Цветаева - Осыпались листья над вашей могилой...

Crumble the leaves over your grave,
And the smell of winter.
Listen, dead, listen, dear:
You're still mine.

Laughs! - In the blessed cloak road!
The moon is high.
My - so surely and so is immutable,
How this hand.

Again with a bundle I go up early in the morning
By the door of the hospital.
You just went in hot countries,
To the great seas.

I kissed you! I conjured you!
I laugh at the darkness beyond the grave!
I do not believe the death! I'm waiting for you on the station -
Home!

Let crumbled leaves, washed and wiped
In the words of mourning ribbons.
And, if you're dead for the whole world,
I, too, was dead.

I see, I feel - I feel you everywhere,
- What is the ribbon on your wreaths! -
I have not forgotten you, and you will not forget
Forever and ever!

I know the futility of such promises,
I know the vanity.
- Letter to infinity. - Letter to the boundlessness. -
Writing in the void.

October 4, 1914