I grew, rustling like a reed,
Out of a dangerous swamp,
Breathing the air of a forbidden life
With rapture, languor, caresses.
In my cold and marshy refuge
No one notices me,
And I am welcomed by the whisper
Of short autumn minutes.
I enjoy this cruel injury
And in a life like a dream
Secretly am envious of everyone —
And secretly enamoured.
— Osip Mandelshtam