Приподнимая голову больного,

Она так нежно, как ребёнка мать,

Его кормила, слабого, худого,

Кто сам не мог и чашки удержать

От жара, лихорадившего тело;

Мужчины все – беспомощный народ,

Ей думалось, пока она глядела

На мужа, обессилев от забот.

Тут поезд просвистел ей на подмогу,

Умчав воображение туда,

Где, вздыбившись, стояли города –

В чудесный мир – не ближняя дорога …

Однако и преград не видно, кроме

Оконных штор и спящего кого-то доме.

Sonnet XII by
Edna St. Vincent Millay
"Sonnets from an Ungrafted Tree".

Tenderly, in those times, as though she fed
An ailing child — with sturdy propping up
Of its small, feverish body in the bed,
And steadying of its hands about the cup —
She gave her husband of her body's strength,
Thinking of men, what helpless things they were,
Until he turned and fell asleep at length,
And stealthily stirred the night and spoke to her.
Familiar, at such moments, like a friend,
Whistled far off the long, mysterious train,
And she could see in her mind's vision plain
The magic World, where cities stood on end . . .
Remote from where she lay — and yet — between,
Save for something asleep beside her, only the window screen.

Selected poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay, 2016, Yale University Press. Edited by Timothy F.Jackson, page 86