Section: «Poems»

Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings: artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.); a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").

Song Of The Final Meeting

My breast grew helplessly cold,But my steps were light.I pulled the glove from my left handMistakenly onto my right.It seemed there were so many..

© Anna Akhmatova

A Widow In Black

A widow in black -- the crying fallCovers all hearts with a depressing cloud...While her man's words are clearly recalled,She will not stop her..

© Anna Akhmatova

Greetings!

Do you hear the soft rustlebeside your table?Don't bother to writefor I'll come to you.Is it possible you are angrywith me like the last time?You say..

© Anna Akhmatova

I Don'T Like Flowers

I don't like flowers - they do remind me oftenOf funerals, of weddings and of balls;Their presence on tables for a dinner calls.But sub-eternal..

© Anna Akhmatova

"Thank You, God..."

Thank you, God: I dream of him more seldom,And don't see him now in every place,The white path with clouds has been laden,Easy shadows o'er the..

© Anna Akhmatova

In Human Closeness There Is A Secret Edge

In human closeness there is a secret edge,Nor love nor passion can pass it above,Let lips with lips be joined in silent rage,And hearts be burst..

© Anna Akhmatova

The Two Of Us Won’t Share A Glass Together

The two of us won’t share a glass togetherBe it of water or of sweet red wine;We won’t be kissing, in the morning eitherNor, late at night, enjoy an..

© Anna Akhmatova

As A White Stone In The Well's Cool Deepness

As a white stone in the well's cool deepness,There lays in me one wonderful remembrance.I am not able and don't want to miss this:It is my torture..

© Anna Akhmatova

And As It's Going

And as it's going often at love's breaking,The ghost of first days came again to us,The silver willow through window then stretched in,The silver..

© Anna Akhmatova

Here Is My Gift

Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,not sticks of burning incense.You lived aloof, maintaining to the endyour magnificent disdain.You drank..

© Anna Akhmatova

Willow

And I grew up in patterned tranquillity,In the cool nursery of the young century.And the voice of man was not dear to me,But the voice of the wind I..

© Anna Akhmatova

Shade

‘What does a certain woman know of the hour of her death?’ - MandelstamTallest, suavest of us, why Memory,forcing you to appear from the past..

© Anna Akhmatova

In Memory Of M.B.

Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,not sticks of burning incense.You lived aloof, maintaining to the endyour magnificent disdain.You drank..

© Anna Akhmatova

Thunder

There will be thunder then. Remember me.Say ‘ She asked for storms.’ The entireworld will turn the colour of crimson stone,and your heart, as then..

© Anna Akhmatova

Lying In Me

Lying in me, as though it were a whiteStone in the depths of a well, is oneMemory that I cannot, will not, fight:It is happiness, and it is..

© Anna Akhmatova

March Elegy

I have enough treasures from the pastto last me longer than I need, or want.You know as well as I . . . malevolent memorywon't let go of half of..

© Anna Akhmatova

I Hear The Oriole's Always-Grieving Voice

I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice,And the rich summer's welcome loss I hearIn the sickle's serpentine hissCutting the corn's ear tightly..

© Anna Akhmatova

Gray-Eyed King

Glory to you, inescapable pain!The gray-eyed king died yesterday.The autumn evening was sultry and red,My husband returned and quietly said:'You..

© Anna Akhmatova

Sunbeam

I pray to the sunbeam from the window -It is pale, thin, straight.Since morning I have been silent,And my heart - is split.The copper on my..

© Anna Akhmatova

Lot's Wife

And the just man trailed God's shining agent,over a black mountain, in his giant track,while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:'It's not too..

© Anna Akhmatova

The Sentence

And the stone word fellOn my still-living breast.Never mind, I was ready.I will manage somehow.Today I have so much to do:I must kill memory once and..

© Anna Akhmatova

Along The Hard Crust Of Deep Snows

Along the hard crust of deep snows,To the secret, white house of yours,So gentle and quiet – we bothAre walking, in silence half-lost.And sweeter..

© Anna Akhmatova

Under Her Dark Veil

Under her dark veil she wrung her hands."Why are you so pale today?""Because I made him drink of stinging griefUntil he got drunk on it.How can I..

© Anna Akhmatova

White Night

I haven't locked the door,Nor lit the candles,You don't know, don't care,That tired I haven't the strengthTo decide to go to bed.Seeing the fields..

© Anna Akhmatova

You Thought I Was That Type

You thought I was that type:That you could forget me,And that I'd plead and weepAnd throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,Or that I'd ask the..

© Anna Akhmatova