I pray to the sunbeam from the window –
It is pale, thin, straight.
Since morning I have been silent,
And my heart – is split.
The copper on my washstand
Has turned green,
But the sunbeam plays on it
So charmingly.
How innocent it is, and simple,
In the evening calm,
But to me in this deserted temple
It’s like a golden celebration,
And a consolation.
(Anna Akhmatova)
More Poetry from Anna Akhmatova:
- As a white stone in the well's cool deepness (Anna Akhmatova Poems)
- And you, my friends who have been called away (Anna Akhmatova Poems)
- A widow in black (Anna Akhmatova Poems)
- Along the hard crust of deep snows (Anna Akhmatova Poems)
- Gray-Eyed King (Anna Akhmatova Poems)
- Rachel (Anna Akhmatova Poems)