Marina Tsvetaeva
P. E. 7. Here`s your roses — pull your hands toward them...

Here's your roses — pull your hands toward them —
Having gone farther than the sea, dear friend!
My dear friend, having with you born out
The most precious treasures of the land.

I am robbed and deceived — There's no letter,
No ring in my memory!
How the features are memorable to me
Of your face, wondering for centuries.

How memorable is the asking, attentive
Stare — inviting to sit near —
And the worldy flattery of the dying
And the smile from the great Afar —

My dear friend, gone to sailing eternally —
A fresh hillock among other mounds!
Pray that there will not be other sailors
Ensconced in your heavenly sound.

Translated by Ilya Shambat