by Anna Akhmatova
Already the maple leaves
Cover the swans’ pool,
And the blood-stained arms
Of late-ripening rowan.
And, dazzlingly slender,
Crossed legs impervious to cold,
She sits on a northern stone,
And gazes at the road.
Ifelt a vague fear,
In front of this famous girl.
Rays of thinning light
Playing over her shoulders.
And how could I forgive her
Your delight, your enamoured praise…
Look there, elegantly naked,
It’s a joy to her to be sad.