by Anna Akhmatova
How I loved, and love, to look
At your chained shores,
At the balconies on which centuries
Never set foot.
And you are truly the capital,
For we who are mad and luminous;
But when those pure
How I loved, and love, to look
At your chained shores,
At the balconies on which centuries
Never set foot.
And you are truly the capital,
For we who are mad and luminous;
But when those pure
Drink my soul, as if with a straw
I know it’s bitter, intoxicating taste.
I won’t disturb the torment with pleading,
Oh, for weeks now I’ve been at peace.
Tell me, when you’re done. No sadness,
That
I asked the cuckoo:
How many years will I live? …
The tips of the pine-trees quivered,
A yellow ray shone on the grass.
Yet no sound in the cool grove…
Now I am going home,
And
Drowsiness returns me
To our last starry paradise –
That city of pure fountains,
Golden Bakhchisarai.
There behind the striped fence,
By pensive waters,
We remembered with joy
The gardens of Tsarskoye Selo.
And suddenly we saw
I came here, in idleness.
Where I’m bored: all the same to me!
A sleepy hilltop mill, yes,
Here years pass silently.
Over convolvulus gone dry
The bee swims past, ahead,
I call to that mermaid by
Earthly fame is smoke,
It’s not what I asked for.
I bring good fortune
To all my lovers.
One of them is alive,
In love with his darling.
The other turned to bronze
In the snowy square.
Ice, resonant, floats by,
The sky is hopelessly pale,
Oh, why do you punish me?
What crime am I guilty of?
If you wish – then murder me,
But don’t be so harsh with me.
With me
In the garden strains of music,
Full of inexpressible sadness.
Scent of the sea, pungent, fresh,
On an ice bed, a dish of oysters.
He said to me: ‘I’m a true friend!’
And then touched my dress.
I don’t know if you’re alive or dead –
Can you be found on earth so?
Or only in twilit thoughts instead,
Be mourned, in that peaceful glow?
All for you: the prayer by day,
The hot
Evening hours at the desk,
The page irremediably white,
The mimosa’s scent is of Nice, warmth,
Over the moon some vast bird flies.
And, twining my braids for night,
As if I must wear them tomorrow,
Ilook