Garden by Marina Tsvetayeva (tr. D. McDuff)

Cure for this hell,
This fever, send
Me a garden
Toward my life's end,

Toward my life's end,
For my life's cares,
My years of work,
My hunchbacked years...

Toward my life's end,
Dog-like -- a bone,
Of burning years --
Cool garden stone.

For an outcast, send
A garden down,
With no one in,
No one around.

Garden: not a step!
Garden: not an eye!
Garden: not a peep!
Garden: not a cry!

Send me a garden down,
Deaf to every call,
With no sweetheart,
No hearts at all.

Tell me: of torment, that's enough --
A garden -- lonely as myself.
(But don't Yourself then stand nearby!)
A garden, solitary as I.

That's the garden I want, when I grow old...
That garden?  Maybe -- that future world?
For my old age send it to me,
To take my soul and set it free.