Nikolay Gumilev
She

I know a woman, full of silence,
Her bitter weariness from words,
Dwells in mysterious, blinking eyelids
Their widened pupils, secret worlds.
Her soul is greedily wide open
To copper music of sweet verse.
To life, that’s worldly, pleasant often,
She’s deaf and lofty, lust-averse.
Without a noise, without hurry,
So strangely smooth her walk and fine,
Can’t call her beautiful, but surely
In her all bliss of mine I find.
And when I long to have my own way,
I'm brave and proud, for her I seek,
I rush to learn this wise and sweet pain
In her nice raving and fatigue.
She shines in hours of hard yearning
And holds bright lightnings in her hand,
Her dreams are sharp, like shadows, churning
On Heaven’s scorching, fiery sand.

Translated by Dmitriy Belyanin