Translate to:

These are the, that cried: “Varravu
Let us for a holiday”, they,
That told Socrates was poisoned
Drink in a prison crowded deaf.

They have the same pour drink
Their slandering innocent mouth,
This sweet lovers torture,
Connoisseurs in the production of orphans.

[1962?]

Most read poems of Anna Akhmatova


All poems of Anna Akhmatova

Leave a Reply