Little Song

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I have been silent since morning

About what the dream sang to me.

For the red rose and the moonbeam

And for me - a single destiny.

The snows creep down the mountains slope,

And I'm whiter than snow,

But sweetly the banks

Of the murky, overflowing river break off.

The cool rustling of spruce groves

Is more restful than waking thoughts.

by Anna Akhmatova, translated by Judith Hemschemeyer.

Anna Akhmatova (1889 - 1966) is recognized as one of the greatest twentieth-century Russian poets.

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