They Didn’t Meet Poem by Anna Akhmatova

They didn't meet me, roamed,
On steps with lanterns bright.
I entered quiet home
In murky, pail moonlight.

Under a lamp's green halo,
With smile of kept in rage,
My friend said, 'Cinderella,
Your voice is very strange…'

A cricket plays its fiddle;
A fire-place grew black.
Oh, someone took my little
White shoe as a keep-sake,

And gave me three carnations,
While casting dawn eyes -.
My sins for accusations,
You couldn't be disguised.

And heart hates to believe in
The time, that's close too,
When he will ask for women
To try on my white shoe.