A Ride


A Ride
Maria Geertruida Snabilie, Lilacs, 1880

My feather brushed the carriage roof.
I was gazing into his eyes.
The pain, in my heart, I failed to know,
Caused by my own sighs.

The evening breathless, heavily-chained
Under a heavenly cloud-bank,
As in the Bois de Boulogne, stained,
In some old album, with Indian ink.

Scent of lilac and benzene,
And a quiet, guarded waiting…
With his hand he touched my knees
Again, and without trembling.


facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest

Add A Ride to your library.

Return to the Anna Akhmatova library , or . . . Read the next poem; 'As a silver, delicate strand'

© 2022 AmericanLiterature.com