Marina Tsvetaeva
Girlfriend. 8. She raises her head...

She raises her head;
the easy, elegant curve of her neck
is timeless, eternal, and perfect—
like that of a new risen sprout.
Who could guess what to call her,
or how many summers she’s numbered,
what nation, what century claims her?

Her full lips are smiling, parting,
mischievous, soft and yielding;
her high, imposing, noble brow;
the forehead of a Beethoven!

A gentle, softly oval face,
a touchingly innocent expression,
while her hand seems as fit
to grip a riding crop
as it does to wear that ring
of opal set in silver—

half hid by a silken cuff,
an irreproducible hand,
an only too beautiful hand,
a hand that looks as though it should hold
a violin virtuoso’s bow.

Translated by Seraphina Powell