The Garden

New Snow


The whole ice-covered garden

Sparkles and cracks.

Having left me, he is mournful,

But there’s no way back.


And the sun is a pale, wan face -

Only a round window;

Mysteriously, I know whose double

Pressed against it long ago.


Here a foreboding of trouble

Forever destroys my peace,

Yesterday’s footprints are still visible

Through the thin ice.


The wan, dead face bows

Over the mute sleep of the fields,

And the sharp cry

Of the cranes left behind dies away.


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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