Marina Tsvetaeva
Poems about Moscow. 4. The day will come - a sad day, they say!..

4

The day will come — a sad day, they say!
They'll finish ruling, finish crying, burn away —
Chilled with the others' nickels all the same —
My eyes, moveable like the flame.
And — like a double as his double he does sense —
The likeness will appear through light face.
O, I at last will merit thee,
A gorgeous belt of beauty!

And from afar — do I envy you? —
Absent-mindedly baptizing, will pull
A pilgrimage along the road black
To my hand, which I surely won't draw back,
To my hand, on which the ban no longer sits,
To my hand, that no more exists.

Your kisses, O the living ones,
I won't oppose at first — not one.
The majesty's shawl beautiful
Has shrouded me from head to heel.
Nothing will make me blush, today
I have a holy Easter day.

Along the streets of left-alone Moscow
I will drive forth, and you will slowly go.
And none will lag behind along the road,
And on coffin's roof will thunder the first stone —
And sleep, self-loving and lonely
Will be resolved finally.
And nothing will be needed to Marina
Our newly-introduced ballerina.

Translated by Ilya Shambat