'Like a white stone in a well's depths,'


Like a white stone in a well's depths,
A single memory remains to me,
That I can't, won't fight against:
It's happiness – and misery.

Ithink someone who gazed full
In my eyes, would see it straight.
They'd be sad, be thoughtful,
As if hearing a mournful tale.

I know the gods changed people
To things, yet left consciousness free.
To keep suffering's wonder alive,
In memory, you changed into me.


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Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'Like one betrothed I receive'

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