Poem By Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
I know you not and in no way
I want to lose starry illusions
With such a face in worst confusion
People are loyal to a ray.
All that the fate has marked for grave
Have such closed-off face instead.
You are a page that was not read
And no, you will not be a slave.
A slave with such a face? Oh no!
There is no error here by chance.
Your slender figure and your glance
Will be secret to many, I know.
A heavy bracelet of your hair
Under the thrown-over scarf
(You'd do with guitar or a harp)
And your pale face, as pale as air.
I know you not. And possibly
You're kind and moderate like all.
Maybe! May these be ravings all!
For only raving ones may be!
Perhaps the day is not so far
When I will fathom what's unseemly…
But this to err - it is so relieving!
It is so easy yet to err!
Touching the scarf with a light hand,
There where the whistles shrilly blow.
This is the you that I will know
Where you just like a riddle stand.