Long look your weary…

Long look your weary,
And she learned to simmer.
From the created of your ribs,
How can I not love you?

It is gratifying to be your sister
I bequeathed the ancient destiny,
And I became sly and greedy
And the sweetest thy slave.

But when froze, humble.
On your breast whiter than snow,
As jubilant your wiser
Heart - the sun of my homeland!

1921

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Anna Akhmatova
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