Solitude

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So many stones have been thrown at me,

That I’m not frightened of them anymore,

And the pit has become a solid tower,

Tall amoung tall towers.

I thank the builders,

May care and sadness pass them by.

From here I’ll see the sunrise earlier,

Here the sun’s last ray rejoices.

And into the windows of my room

The northen breezes often fly.

And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat …

As for my unfinshed page,

The Muse’s tawny hand, divinely calm

And delicate, will finish it.


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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