Here you will find the Poem How hard for me, the splendor of this crown and robe of poet Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
-- How hard for me, the splendor of this crown and robe, amidst my shame -- -- In stony Troezen will be an infamous calamity, the royal staircase will grow red with disgrace, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and for the mother in love, the black sun will rise. -- O, if hate would boil in my breast -- but see, the admission itself has fallen from my lips. -- Phedre burns in a black flame in broad daylight. The funeral torch fumes in broad white daylight. Dread your mother, Hippolytus: Phedre -- night -- watche s over you in broad white day. -- I have stained the sun with black love . . . Death from a bottle will cool my ardor -- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . -- We are afraid, we do not dare relieve the king's grief. Wounded by Theseus, night fell upon him. But we, with a funeral song bringing home the dead, will pacify the black sun of wild and sleepless passion.
