Anna Akhmatova

You, who first stood before the source
With your smile, so deadly stoned!
How tortures us a look, you own, –
The heavy look of the night-birds.
But awful years will soon pass,
You’ll be again and young and careless,
And we’ll preserve the cold, mysterious,
Of minutes, given you for once.   


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2002