Anna Akhmatova

There is she, the fruit-bearing autumn!
Somewhat late they denounced her birth,
‘Cause for fifteen blessed springs I was molten
And could not rise myself from the earth.
Then I had recognized her, belated,
Pressed myself against her and embraced,
And the autumn to me, execrated,
Was in secret transmitting her grace. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2002