'Evening hours at the desk,'


Evening hours at the desk,
The page irremediably white,
The mimosa's scent is of Nice, warmth,
Over the moon some vast bird flies.

And, twining my braids for night,
As if I must wear them tomorrow,
Ilook from the window at sand-dunes, sea,
Free of sorrow.

How much power a man has
Who doesn't ask for affection!
I can't even lift my weary eyelids
When he chooses to speak my name.


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Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Evening Room

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.