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I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
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Anna Akhmatova This entry was posted on 1/25/2007 11:34 PM and is filed under Poems. * I wrung my hands under my dark veil... 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 * Song of the Final Meeting My breast grew helplessly cold, But my steps were light. I pulled the glove from my left hand Mistakenly onto my right. It seemed there were so many steps, But I knew there were only three! Amidst the maples an autumn whisper Pleaded: "Die with me! I'm led astray by evil Fate, so black and so untrue." I answered: "I, too, dear one! I, too, will die with you..." This is a song of the final meeting. I glanced at the house's dark frame. Only bedroom candles burning With an indifferent yellow flame. 29 September 1911, Tsarskoe Selo CommentsDisplay comments as (Linear | Threaded)
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