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").

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

Solitude

So many stones have been thrown at me,That I'm not frightened of them anymore,And the pit has become a solid tower,Tall among tall towers.I thank the..

© Anna Akhmatova