Poetry
Anna Akhmatova No one sung about that meeting
No one sung about that meeting,
Sadness faded with never a song.
A cool summer it was,
Like a new life begun.
The sky seems a vault of stone,
Wounded by yellow fire,
And more than my daily bread
I need some word of him.
Dew-wet grass
Refresh my soul with news –
Not for passion, or for pleasure,
But for deep love of this earth.
