Anna Akhmatova
Michal

"And Michal the daughter of Saul loved David,
And Saul said: I will give her to him, and she will be a snare."
Book of Kings

And the young lad plays for the mad king,
And he smites the pitilessness of night,
And he loudly hails the triumph of dawn,
And he stifles dread phantoms that lying in wait.
And the king with favor speaks to him:
“In you, youth, burns a wondrous flame,
And for such a medicine’s rare balm
I give both my daughter and my kingdom.”
At the singer, the king’s daughter looks down
She has need of neither singing nor crown,
In her soul is grief and resentment,
And yet, Michal wants — David.
Paler than death, her lips are clenched.
In her eyes, green, frenzy thrills and glints,
Garments are aglow, and harmony rings
On her wrist, with her every movement.
Like secret, like dream, like foremother Lilith!
Words are spoken deeper than her will:
“Most likely, they gave poison in my drink,
And disoriented my soul with darkness
My sauciness—now my shamefulness!
A vagrant, an upstart, a shepherd!
Not one of the grandees and courtiers,
Can compare, alas, to him!
And the sun’s beams... and the night’s stars...
And this trembling cold...”

Translated by Don Mager