Anna Akhmatova

My neck is shaded by the beads,
In the wide muff, hands void of cold,
Absent eyes look under eyelids –
They’ll never weep over the old.

Else paler seems my saddened face
Above the silk of lilac glaring,
Eyebrows can almost be embraced
By the long fringe, uncurled and daring.

And this so slow, cautious gait
Isn’t similar the flight in heavens –
As if the floor were oddly made
With the raft’s logs, but parquet squares.

My lips are opened a bit,
And breath is fast as if in fever,
And mourn the flowers – my breast mid –
The date that didn’t happen ever. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April 16, 2004
Corrected May-June 2008