S.Marshak, Back Translation Of Translated Shakespeare, Son.1 (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

We wait a good yield from our best grapevines
In order to save beauty, its long living.
Then let the petals of the roses do ripen
And fade, the young rose will continue.

But you, loving your beauty in the highest level,
And giving it your best: the living juice,
Will gain the poverty among the weathness -
Become your foe, enemy callous.

You are the ornament of nowadays, and ever
The herald of the non-long spring, take that:
You perish, if deny conception,
And being avaricious, will join waste.

Regretting of your peace, don't bury seeds,
Which could bring in your future the fine yield.