Her Soul is Light

Translation of a poem by Nabokov

Her soul is light - unearthly, rare -
a white gleam behind enchanted doors -
It draws me in. Step through, unseen painter,
pick up your brush

And paint a stream of color-winged creatures,
a fire-lit flight of mythic birds,
Adorn the silent, white-lit chamber
of magic that her soul is.

Dip your brush in dew from tea-rose petals,
and in the crimson juice of dawn
Come in, love - come in, quiet painter -
to dream, create.