Marina Tsvetaeva
Drum

To rock a cradle this morning in May?
Proud neck in lasso, like some?
Distaff to jailbird, to herder — a shawn,
To me — a drum.

Role of a woman's not dear to me:
I fear not wounds, but boredom.
Gives to me everything — honor and might —
This my drum.

So many countries I have not seen!
Trees are in bloom, stands the sun..
Kill all the sorrow around you in flight,
Beat, my drum!

Beat, now you drummer! Ahead of all!
All else — deceit for the dumb!
Why does it conquer the heart on the way.
How is the drum?

Translated by Ilya Shambat