S.Marshak, Back Translation Of Translated Shakespeare, Son.130 Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

Her eyes are not like stars high in the sky,
Nor her lips could be said to be a coral,
And skin of opened her shoulders are not white,
And as the black wire is her hair-curl.

With a damask rose her cheeks couldn't be compared,
Whether it was vermilion or white,
Her simple body has the simple flavour,
But not like a violet smells in the night.

You couldn't find in her the features perfect,
Or on the forehead - light of a special sort.
I don't know, what is the gait of a goddess,
But she, my love, is walking over the earth!

And she should neither be so worse, than those,
Who were piled up with a lie in their pose.