In honor of the end of the Sopranos, which, whatever else you say about it, was actually that elusive thing -- good tv -- here's some tres depressing Akhmatova.
All Has Been Taken Away . . .
All has been taken away: strength and love.
My body, cast into an unloved city,
is not glad of the sun. I feel [that] my blood
has gone quite cold in me.
I'm baffled by the Muse's state of mind:
she looks at me and doesn't say a word,
and lays her head, in its dark wreath,
exhausted, on my breast.
And only conscience, more terribly each day
rages, demanding vast tribute.
For answer I hide my face in my hands . . .
but I have run out of tears and excuses.
~Sevastopol, 24 October 1916
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