S.Marshak, Back Translation Of Translated Shakespeare, Son.5 (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The firtive time with a delicate skill carries,
Creates the fairy light holiday for eyes,
But takes away in costant round racing
All, that were pleasing and enjoying us.

The hours' and days' impetuous flow
Leads summer to the winter cold,
Where there is lack of greens, the sap in trees is frozen,
And earth is dead under the white furcoat.

But only the scent of rose blossoming-
The flying captive in the frigile glass, -
Is the reminder in the frost and cold
About the existence of hot sun.

The former shine those flowers had lost,
But stored in flavour all the beauty's soul.