Poems of Anna Akhmatova
|1.||A widow in black||4/8/2010|
|2.||Alexander By Thebes||4/8/2010|
|3.||Along the hard crust of deep snows||4/8/2010|
|4.||And as it's Going||4/8/2010|
|5.||And you, my friends who have been called away||4/8/2010|
|6.||As a white stone in the well's cool deepness||4/8/2010|
|7.||But Listen, I Am Warning You||4/8/2010|
|12.||For Osip Mandelstam||1/21/2003|
|15.||He Did Love||4/8/2010|
|16.||Here is my gift||4/8/2010|
|17.||Here Pushkin’s Endless Exile Has Begun||4/8/2010|
|18.||How can you bear to look at the Neva?||1/1/2004|
|19.||How Many Demands...||4/8/2010|
|20.||I Don't Know If You're Alive Or Dead||1/3/2003|
I Wrung My Hands
I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
"Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?"
-- Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.
I'll never forget. He went out, reeling;
his mouth was twisted, desolate. . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,
and followed him as far as the gate.