Marina Tsvetaeva
Don Juan. 7. And fanning in eyes of the coming

7

And fanning in eyes of the coming
Sadness and sin,
You pass the city — brutally-black,
Heavenly-thin.

Covered with torment, like with fog,
Is your eye.
In loop — a rose, in all the pockets —
Words of love. Aye!

I hear your call over the restaurant
Violin.
I send a smile to you from the distance,
Robber king!

And then I recognize that same look,
Spreading my wings,
With which in Castille at me stared
Your older sibling.

Translated by Ilya Shambat