By Osip Mandelshtam
(To Anna Akhmatova)
Like a black angel on the snow,
You have appeared to me today,
And I can't hide it anymore:
Indeed you carry God's own claim!..
The Lord's own stamp - so ever-strange,
As would be gifts from heaven sent…
One might imagine you were meant
In alcoves of a church to stand!..
Yet, may an otherworldly love
With love that's earthly grow infused!
And may it be that storming blood
Flows to your cheekbones,
And there brews.
May toned be by a marble - lush! -
The ghostly show of your torn rags,
And bareness of your gentle flesh,
But not your cheekbones…
As they blush!