MuseWhen at night I wait for her to come,Life, it seems, hangs by a single strand.What are glory, youth, freedom, in comparisonwith the dear welcome guest, a flute in hand?She enters now. Pushing her veil aside,she stares through me with her attentiveness.I question her: 'And were you Dante's guide,dictating the Inferno?' She answers: 'Yes.

-Anna Akhmatova

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