As The Future Ripens In The Past,

That Was When The Ones Who Smiled Were The Dead, Glad To Be At Rest.

I Have Long Had This Premonition Of A Bright Day And A Deserted House

In The Terrible Years Of The Yezhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months Waiting In Line Outside The Prison In Leningrad. One Day Somebody In The Crowd Identified Me . . . And Asked Me In A Whisper . . . "can You Describe This?" And I Said: "i Can."

The Stars Of Death Stood Over Us. And Russia, Guiltless, Beloved, Writhed Under The Crunch Of Bloodstained Boots, Under The Wheels Of Black Marias.

Italy Is A Dream That Keeps Returning For The Rest Of Your Life.