Instead of wisdom -- experience, bare,That does not slake thirst, is not wet.Youth's gone -- like a Sunday prayer.Is it mine to forget?On how many desert roads have searched IWith him who wasn't dear for me,How many bows gave in church IFor him, who had well loved me.I've become more oblivious than inviting,Quietly years swim.Lips unkissed, eyes unsmiling --Nothing will give me back him.
-Anna Akhmatova
Select a background
More quotes by Anna Akhmatova
Popular Authors
A curated listing of popular authors.