Anna Akhmatova

The river crawls along the valley breathless,
Windows spot the house on the hill…
As if in times of Catherine, the empress,
We wait for crop and go to masses still.
Having sufficed the two-day separation,
Along the golden fields rides our guest,
Kisses, upstairs, grandma’s hand at reception,
And lips of mine while going down stairs.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, July, 2002