Marina Tsvetaeva
Early yet — to no longer be!..

Early yet — to no longer be!
Early yet — to no longer burn!
Tenderness! A brutal lash
Of Underworld encounters.

However deep your inclination —
The sky — is a fathomless vat!
O, for such a love it’s
Early yet — to not feel wounded!

Life is alive with jealousy!
Blood lusts to stream
On the ground. Does a widow
Give up her right — to the sword?

Life is alive with jealousy!
Loss is consecrated to
My heart! Does grass
Give up its right — to the scythe?

The secret thirst of grasses...
Every new shoot says: “crush me”...
Having dispensed with bindings,
My wounds remain — my own!

And until You suture us
— I bleed! — until You press my wound —
Early yet for the frozen reaches
Of the Underworld!

Translated by Mary Jane White