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.