To feel thoroughly ill, to sweat in delirium,
To meet everyone known again,
To roam the broad paths of a sea-side garden,
Filled with the wind and sun.
Today, even the dead, the exiled,
Choose to enter my home.
You are leading a child by the hand,
I have longed for him so.
I'll eat blue grapes with my dear ones,
I'll drink the ice cold wine,
And watch how the grey waterfall drops
Into moist, flinty depths.
Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'To lose the freshness of speech, the simplicity of feeling,'