Marina Tsvetaeva
Achilles on the wall

Drained — taken — overcome —
— Flat on my back! — I will die.
Like Polyxena, who beheld Achilles
There, on the wall —

In red — a bloody tower on the horizon
Of bodies he had laid low.
Like Polyxena praying: «Who is this?»
(And knew — the pyre!)

The united sorcery
Of awe, of love.
Like Polyxena, who beheld the Achaean
And whispered — and —

Do you know that ebb of Atlantean
Blood down my cheeks?
Over an invincible — expanse of no-man's land —
The quaking of our blood.

Translated by Mary Jane White