Departure
Although this land is not my own,
I will remember its inland sea
and the waters that are so cold
the sand as white
as old bones, the pine trees
strangely red where the sun comes down.
I cannot say if it is our love,
or the day, that is ending.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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So again we triumph!
So again we triumph!
Again we do not come!
Our speeches silent,
Our words, dumb.
Our eyes that have not met
Again, are lost;
And only tears forget
The grip of frost.
A wild-rose bush near Moscow
Knows something of
This pain that will be called
Immortal love.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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True Tenderness
True tenderness is silent
and can't be mistaken for anything else.
In vain with earnest desire
you cover my shoulders with fur;
In vain you try to persuade me
of the merits of first love.
But I know too well the meaning
of your persistent burning glances.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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But Listen, I Am Warning You
But listen, I am warning you
I'm living for the very last time.
Not as a swallow, nor a maple,
Not as a reed, nor as a star,
Not as spring water,
Nor as the toll of bells…
Will I return to trouble men
Nor will I vex their dreams again
With my insatiable moans.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Let Somebody Else Rest by Southern Sea
Let somebody else rest by southern sea,
Enjoying the paradise land,
It's northerly here, and fall of this year,
I chose to be my girl-friend.
I've carried here the memory sure
Of my last rejecting a date -
The flame, so cold, so easy and pure,
Of my overcoming the fate.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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How can you bear to look at the Neva?
How can you bear to look at the Neva?
How can you bear to cross the bridges?.
Not in vain am I known as the grieving one
Since the time you appeared to me.
The black angels' wings are sharp,
Judgment Day is coming soon,
And raspberry-colored bonfires bloom,
Like roses, in the snow.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Along the hard crust of deep snows
Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours,
So gentle and quiet – we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,
Are this dream, becoming the truth,
Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favor,
The light ring of your silver spurs...
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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I Don't Like Flowers
I don't like flowers - they do remind me often
Of funerals, of weddings and of balls;
Their presence on tables for a dinner calls.
But sub-eternal roses' ever simple charm
Which was my solace when I was a child,
Has stayed - my heritage - a set of years behind,
Like Mozart's ever-living music's hum.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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I Was Born in the Right Time, in Whole
I was born in the right time, in whole,
Only this time is one that is blessed,
But great God did not let my poor soul
Live without deceit on this earth.
And therefore, it's dark in my house,
And therefore, all of my friends,
Like sad birds, in the evening aroused,
Sing of love, that was never on land.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Here Pushkin’s Endless Exile Has Begun
Here Pushkin's endless exile has begun,
And Lermontov's exile turned out fatal,
The mountain grass has a smell so sweet and gentle,
And only once I managed to discern,
By the lake under the dense shade of a chinara,
In the early evening and ferocious trice
The glare of insatiable dark eyes
Of the immortal lover of Tamara.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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