And you, my friends who have been called away,I have been spared to mourn for you and weep,not as a frozen willow over your memory,but to cry to the world the names of those who sleep. What names are those!I slam shut the calendar,down on your knees, all!Blood of my heart,the people of Leningrad march out in even rows,the living, the dead: fame can't tell them apart.

There are Four of UsI have turned aside from everything,from the whole earthly store.The spirit and guardian of this placeis an old tree-stump in water.We are brief guests of the earth, as it were,and life is a habit we put on.On paths of air I seem to overheartwo friendly voices, talking in turn.Did I say two?...There by the east wall's tangle of raspberry,is a branch of elder, dark and fresh.Why! It's a letter from Marina.November 1962 (in delirium)

He loved three things in this life:Vespers, white peacocks,And old maps of America,Didn't love children crying,Raspberries with tea, Or feminine hysteria...And I was his wife.

We don't know how to say goodbye,We wander on, shoulder to shoulderAlready the sun is going downYou're moody, and I am your shadow.Let's step inside a church, hear prayers, masses for the deadWhy are we so different from the rest?Outside in the graveyard we sit on a frozen branch.That stick in your hand is tracingMansions in the snow in which we will always be together.

All ten years of my trepidations,Each and every sleepless night,I placed them all in a quiet wordAnd I voiced it – in vain, unsure.You walked off and with order restored,My soul was empty and pure.- From "Confusion", Anna Akhmatova, Rosary

All ten years of my trepidations,Each and every sleepless night,I placed them all in a quiet wordAnd I voiced it – in vain, unsure.You walked off and with order restored,My soul was empty and pure.~ Confusion

All ten years of my trepidations,Each and every sleepless night,I placed them all in a quiet wordAnd I voiced it – in vain, unsure.You walked off and with order restored,My soul was empty and pure.

A solitary sorceress: her shadow is still visible on the eve of the new moon.

Let love be the gravestoneLying on my life.