Lying in me (Anna Akhmatova Poem)
Lying in me, as though it were a white Stone in the depths of a well, is one Memory that ...
Lying in me, as though it were a white Stone in the depths of a well, is one Memory that ...
I taught myself to live simply and wisely, to look at the sky and pray to God, and to wander ...
I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice, And the rich summer's welcome loss I hear In the sickle's serpentine hiss Cutting ...
How can you bear to look at the Neva? How can you bear to cross the bridges?. Not in vain ...
Why is this age worse than earlier ages? In a stupor of grief and dread have we not fingered the ...
Here is my gift, not roses on your grave, not sticks of burning incense. You lived aloof, maintaining to the ...
And I grew up in patterned tranquillity, In the cool nursery of the young century. And the voice of man ...
There will be thunder then. Remember me. Say ' She asked for storms.' The entire world will turn the colour ...
There will be thunder then. Remember me. Say ' She asked for storms.' The entire world will turn the colour ...
And the stone word fell On my still-living breast. Never mind, I was ready. I will manage somehow. Today I ...
Twenty-first. Night. Monday. Silhouette of the capitol in darkness. Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why -- made up the tale ...
Under her dark veil she wrung her hands. "Why are you so pale today?" "Because I made him drink of ...
You thought I was that type: That you could forget me, And that I'd plead and weep And throw myself ...
And the just man trailed God's shining agent, over a black mountain, in his giant track, while a restless voice ...
So many stones have been thrown at me, That I'm not frightened of them anymore, And the pit has become ...
I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . "Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?" -- Because ...
I have enough treasures from the past to last me longer than I need, or want. You know as well ...
Memory of sun seeps from the heart. Grass grows yellower. Faintly if at all the early snowflakes Hover, hover. Water ...
Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where ...
I don't know if you're alive or dead. Can you on earth be sought, Or only when the sunsets fade ...
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