Song of the Last Meeting


My heart was chilled and numb,
But my feet were light.
Ifumbled the glove for my left hand
Onto my right.

It seemed there were many steps,
I knew – there were only three.
Autumn, whispering in the maples,
Kept urging: 'Die with me!

I'm cheated by joylessness,
Changed by a destiny untrue.'
I answered: 'My dear, my dear!
Itoo: I'll die with you.'

The song of the last meeting.
Isee that dark house again.
Only bedroom candles burning,
With a yellow, indifferent, flame.


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Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'The bridge of logs is black and twisted,'

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