Anna Akhmatova

My sister Muse looked at my flaming face, –
Her glance is the bright one and clear –
Took my gold ring off its lawful place –
That first spring present I bear.

“Muse! Do you see how happy are they –
Widows, women and maidens? ...
I’d take my death on a wheel every day,
Lest bear these heaviest fetters.”

I understand that, while making a chant,
I’ve to throw off daisies’ petals.
Everyone, everywhere, once must be sent
Onto the rake, sentimental.

The candles are burning on my windowsill,
For grief, there are not any reasons,
But I won’t know or somehow feel
How the other he kisses.

The mirror will tell me, with smiles, in the morn: 
“Today your glance isn’t bright and clear…”
I’ll answer it: “From my heart had been torn
Light of our Savior, dear.” 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August 15, 2004
Corrected May-June 2008