Marina Tsvetaeva
Today or tomorrow the snow will melt...

Today or tomorrow the snow will melt.
You lie alone beneath an enormous fur.
Shall I pity you? Your lips
have gone dry for ever.

Your drinking is difficult, your step heavy.
Every passer-by hurries away from you.
Was it with fingers like yours that Rogozhin
clutched the garden knife?

And the eyes, the eyes in your face!
Two circles of charcoal, year-old circles!
Surely when you were still young your girl
lured you into a joyless house.

Far away — in the night — over asphalt — a cane.
Doors — swing open into — night — under beating wind.
Come in! Appear! Undesired guest! Into
my chamber which is — most bright!

Translated by Elaine Feinstein