S.Marshak, Back Translation Of Translated Shakespeare, Son.132 Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

I like your eyes. They are caressing me,
Forgotten all, with a genuinely pity.
And the rejected friend, buried within,
As mourning, to a black colour's fitted.

Believe, that sunshine doesn't suit to face
Of the early, though grey-haired, east,
And star, that carries evening to this place -
The west eye of the transparent sky bliss -

Is not such radiant, not so light in view,
As this nice look, all filled with farewell.
Oh, if you could your heart to vest into
The same black mourning, soft and sad -

Then I may think, that the beauty is itself
Black as the night, and bright as light - in black.