In a Restaurant

I shall never forget (was it real or fancied,
That far evening?) the yellowish light
Of a sky scorched and riven by flame and, against it,
Rows of streetlamps already alight.

It was crowded. The bows scraped the strings, and, lamenting
Love’s swift passing, spoke sadly to me.
By the window I sat, and a black rose I sent you
In a glass of sky-golden ayi.

You glanced at me. I bowed, and, your gaze meeting boldly,
To conceal my embarrassment strove.
To your escort you turned, saying pointedly, coldly:
«Who’d have thought it! He too is in love.»

And the strings in reply now burst forth, and their singing
Was both savagely frenzied and gay…
But for all of your scorn you were with me: your fingers
Trembled slightly and gave you away.

Darting up like a great startled bird, you winged past me
And seemed light as a thing in a dream…
Drooping lashes, a faint breath of perfume, the restless
Swhish and whisper of silk, and its sheen.

But from out of the mirrors at me you threw glances,
Shouting «Catch!» as you moved swiftly on,
And the Gypsy, her beads jingling, never stopped dancing
And shrilled loudly of love to the dawn.

Aleksander Blok
Translated by Irina Zheleznova