Marina Tsvetaeva
Muse

No awards, no forefathers,
Not a falcon clear.
She goes and is torn away —
She is so far!

Underneath tan eyelids
A golden-winged flame.
Forgotten once she took it
With a windswept arm.

An un-picked-up skirt,
A rag that went bare.
I'm not kind, not mean
But like this: so far.

Does not fuss or cry:
Tore - and therefore dear!
You gave — and forgotten
With a windswept arm.

With a scream and with a throat's
Scattering, forgot...
So distant as she is
Come and keep her, God!

Translated by Ilya Shambat