S.Marshak, Back Translation Of Translated Shakespeare, Son.55 Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The mossy marble of the regal tombs
Will disappear earlier than words,
In which I had your pretty image stored,
No dust or dirty stick to it at all.

Then let the war overturns the statue,
And mutiny let crashes work of mason,
But letters, cut in memory, asserted,
Will not be cleaned by a moving century.

Not death will carry you to bottom once,
Nor the dark oblivion in the proceeding war.
You, with posterity so far, will glance,
Wearing out the world, to see the court.

Then let you live forever till the rise
In my verse, in my heart - with love!