In that long-ago year, when I lit love…

In that long-ago year, when I lit love,
As cross feast, in the heart of the doomed,
You're not meek dove clung
My chest; but the hawk claws.
Izmenoj Pervola, wine curse
You have drunk his friend.
But the hour has come to the green eyes
you look at oneself, in cruel lips
Pray in vain Sweet Gift
And such oaths, What you have not heard,
What no one has ever said.
Thus poisoned spring water
To follow him walking in the desert
Himself lost and, Yearner strongly,
The source is not found in darkness.
He drinks death, water clinging to cool,
But if the death quench thirst?

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Anna Akhmatova
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