One of Osip Mandelshtam's late little poems. Translated by me. I know I've posted this before - just wanted to remind everybody.

                   I'll whisper it - in an outline.
Its hour has not yet come.
The chessgame of measureless heaven
is mated with sweat - and wisdom.

And under purgatory's transient sky
we grow absent-minded - forget
that lucky heaven-vault on high...
is a limber, everlasting habitat.

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