It seems as though the voice of manWill never sound in this place,But only wind from age of stoneIs knocking on black gates.It seems to me that I aloneHave kept good health under this sky,Because of this, that first I soughtTo drink the deadly wine.Parting, Evening and slanting,Downward goes my way.Yesterday in love still,"Don't forget" you prayed.Now there's only shepherds'Cry, and glancing winds,And the worried cedarsStand by clear springs.
-Anna Akhmatova
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