in the evening

Rang with music in the garden
So unspeakably grief.
Fresh and smelled strongly of the sea
On a platter oysters on ice.

He told me: “I am a loyal friend!” —
And I touched my dresses.
How not to look like arms
The touch of these hands.

So pat the cats or birds,
So on the riders look slim…
Only laughter in his eyes calm
Under a light golden lashes.

A mournful violins voice
Sing for creeping smoke:
“Bless the heavens -
You are the first time with a loved one”.

March 1913

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Anna Akhmatova
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