'A cast-iron fence,'


A cast-iron fence,
A bed of pine,
How sweet that I no longer
Need to be jealous.

A bed's made for me
With sobbing and prayer;
Now go wherever on earth
You wish, God bless you!

Now your ears won't burn
With frenzied speech,
Now a candle won't flicker
Till the dawn.

We've achieved a peace,
And immaculate days…
You weep – I'm not worth
A single one of your tears.


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Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'A grey cloud in the sky overhead,'

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