Evening Room


Ispeak those words, today, that come
Only once, born in the spirit.
Bees hum on white chrysanthemum:
There's the must of an old sachet.

And the room, with narrow windows,
Preserves love, remembers the past.
Over the bed a French script flows:
It reads: 'Lord, have mercy on us.'

Those saddened marks of so ancient a tale,
You mustn't touch, my heart, or seek to…
Isee bright Sèvres statuettes grow pale:
Even as their lustre grows duller too.

A last ray, yellow, heavy,
Sets on the dahlias' bright bouquet,
And I can hear viols playing,
A clavichord's rare display.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add Evening Room to your own personal library.

Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'Everything's looted, betrayed and traded,'

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson