You, Who was Born for Poetry's Creation
You, who was born for poetry's creation,
Do not repeat the sayings of the ancients.
Though, maybe, our Poetry, itself,
Is just a single beautiful citation.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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There are the words that couldn’t be twice said
There are the words that couldn’t be twice said,
He, who said once, spent out all his senses.
Only two things have never their end –
The heavens’ blue and the Creator’s mercy.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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The Pillow Hot
The pillow hot
On both sides,
The second candle
Dying, the ravens
Crying. Haven't
Slept all night, too late
To dream of sleep...
How unbearably white
The blind on the white window.
Good morning, morning!
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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He Did Love
He did love three things in this world:
Choir chants at vespers, albino peacocks,
And worn, weathered maps of America.
And he did not love children crying,
Or tea served with raspberries,
Or woman's hysteria.
...And I was his wife.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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In Dream
Black and enduring separation
I share equally with you.
Why weep? Give me your hand,
Promise me you will come again.
You and I are like high
Mountains and we can't move closer.
Just send me word
At midnight sometime through the stars.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Sunshine Has Filled The Room
Sunshine has filled the room
with clear golden specks of dust.
I woke up and remembered,
dear, it was your birthday.
But far beyond my windows
snow has covered the ground,
And made me forget, so now to atone,
I sleep without dreams.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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The Last Toast
I drink to home, that is lost,
To evil life of mine,
To loneness in which we’re both,
And to your future, fine, --
To lips by which I was betrayed,
To eyes that deathly cold,
To that that the world is bad and that
We were not saved by God.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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I Saw My Friend At The Front Door
I saw my friend to the front door
I stood in the golden dust.
Momentous sounds issued
From the little belfry close by.
Tossed! Such a made-up word-
What am I, a flower or a letter?
But my eyes already gaze grimly
Into the darkened looking glass.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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My Way
One goes in straightforward ways,
One in a circle roams:
Waits for a girl of his gone days,
Or for returning home.
But I do go -- and woe is there --
By a way nor straight, nor broad,
But into never and nowhere,
Like trains -- off the railroad.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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One goes in straightforward ways
One goes in straightforward ways,
One in a circle roams:
Waits for a girl of his gone days,
Or for returning home.
But I do go -- and woe is there --
By a way nor straight, nor broad,
But into never and nowhere,
Like trains -- off the railroad.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!