Thursday, January 10, 2008

‘The souls of those I love are on high stars.’

The souls of those I love are on high stars.
How good that there’s no-one left to lose
and one can weep. All created in order

to sing songs, this air of Tsarskoye Selo’s.

The river bank’s silver willow
touches the bright September stream.
Rising from the past, my shadow
is running in silence to meet me.

So many lyres hung on branches here,
but it seems there’s room for mine too.
And this shower, sun-drenched, rare,
brings me consolation, good news.

Anna Akhmatova

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