He loved three things, alive:
White peacocks, songs at eve,
And antique maps of America.
Hated when children cried,
And raspberry jam with tea,
And feminine hysteria.
…And he had married me.
This poem is featured in our selection of 100 Great Poems and guide to Russian Writers.
Return to the Anna Akhmatova library , or . . . Read the next poem; 'Here we're all drunkards and whores,'