A flame is in my blood
burning dry life, to the bone.
I do not sing of stone,
now, I sing of wood.
It is light and coarse:
made of a single spar,
the oak’s deep heart,
and the fisherman’s oar.
Drive them deep, the piles:
hammer them in tight,
around wooden Paradise,
where everything is light.
(Osip Mandelstam)
More Poetry from Osip Mandelstam:
Osip Mandelstam Poems based on Topics: Light, Life- Sisters (Osip Mandelstam Poems)
- The Age (Osip Mandelstam Poems)
- This (Osip Mandelstam Poems)
- What shall I do with this body they gave me (Osip Mandelstam Poems)
- This night is irredeemable (Osip Mandelstam Poems)
- I don't remember the word I wished to say (Osip Mandelstam Poems)