- Anna Akhmátova
Dust rose from the vacant lot to the right of the cemetery,
and behind it the river flashed blue.
You told me: “All right then, get thee to a nunnery,
or go get married to a fool…”
Only princes make such speeches,
but I remembered those words.
May they flow like an ermine mantle from your shoulders
for hundreds and hundreds of years.
Ans as if by mistake
I used the familiar: “Ty…”
and the shadow of a smile lit up
your sweet features.
From slips such as these
such glances can blaze…
I love you like forty
fond sisters.
And when we had cursed each other,
passionate, white hot,
we still didn’t understand
how small the earth can be for two people,
and that memory can torment savagely.
The anguish of the strong - a wasting disease!
And in the endless night the heart learns
to ask: Oh. where is my departed lover?
And when, through waves of incense,
the choir thunders, exulting and threatening,
those same eyes, inescapable,
stare sternly and stubbornly into the soul.
