Ты проходишь на запад... - пер. М. Цветаевой

You are going to west, where's a sun,
You will see there the evening light,
You are going to the west, where sun,
And a blizzard is hiding your site.

By my windows - and without passion -
You will pass in the silence of snow,
The god's righteous man, a pious,
The silent light of my inner soul!

I'm not coveting - for your soul!
Indestructable is your way.
In your hand, pale from kisses, though
I shan't cruely hammer a nail.

And I shan't hail your name ever,
And I shan't stretch to you ever - hands.
I shall bow to the image, wax pale,
From a distance, to your saint face.

Standing under the falling white snow,
I'll bend down on knees on the snow,
And will kiss with my lips for the sake of god
Beautiful that and white falling snow -

There, where with steps such majestic,
You had passed in the silence sepulchral,
You - the silent light, you - the glory saint -
You - the Almighty of my inner soul.

2 may 1916