Sunday, October 01, 2006

Sunday Akhmatova Blogging

I wrung my hands beneath my veil...
"Why are you so pale today?"
- Because I forced him to get drunk
On sorrow's sour wine.

How can I forget? He lurched outside,
His mouth was twisted up in pain...
Not touching the banister, I ran down,
I ran after him to the gate.

Gasping, I cried: "It was but a joke
All of it. If you should leave, I'd die."
He smiled a calm and horrible smile
And said: "Don't stand out in the wind."

8 January 1911, Kiev

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