The mysterious spring still thrills...
The mysterious spring still thrills,
A transparent breeze wanders the hills,
And the deep lake becomes bluer still--
The temple of the Baptist not built by human hands.
You were frightened by our first meeting,
But I was already praying for a second one.
And again today the evening is sultry--
How low the sun hangs over the hill...
You are not with me but there's no separation:
For me each moment is a triumphant report.
I know that you are in such torment,
That you can't utter a word..
by Anna Akhmatova
1917
Petersburg
Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer
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