How I love, how I loved to stareAt the ironclad shores,On the balcony, where foreverNo foot stepped, not mine, not yours.And in truth you are -- a capitalFor the mad and luminous us;But when over Nieva sailThose special, pure hoursAnd the winds of May fly overYou past the iron beamsYou are like a dying sinnerSeeing heavenly dreams...
-Anna Akhmatova
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