Marina Tsvetaeva
The Byronist

At him on windows tap the roses,
And wraps the smarmy chord its shroud...
He will not change his haughty poses,
A Byronist — oh, how he’s proud!

In velvet shimmer of the garden
With shepherdess does cupid play.
The adolescent’s features harden,
A Byronist — he can’t be gay!

Pah! From outside sound rowboat’s splashes,
On windowsill a bouquet falls...
And, trembling, book to floor he dashes,
O bard, forgive admirer’s crawls!

Translated by Rupert Moreton