The ocean outside my window

Insomnia. Homer. Tight sails.
I read the list of ships to the middle:
This long brood, this crane train,
That he once rose above Hellas.

Like a crane wedge into other people's borders, -
Divine foam on the heads of kings,
Where are you sailing? Whenever Elena,
That Troy is one of you, Achaean men?

Both the sea and Homer - everything moves with love.
Whom should I listen to? And now Homer is silent,
And the black sea, whirling, rustles
And with a heavy crash he approaches the headboard.

Osip Mandelstam