'We shall not sip from the same glass,'

by


We shall not sip from the same glass,
No water for us, or sweet wine;
We'll not embrace at morning,
Not gaze from the same sill at night;
You breathe the sun, I the moon,
Yet the one love keeps us alive.

Always with me, tender, true friend,
And your smiling friend's with you.
But I know the pain in your grey eyes,
And my sickness is down to you, too.
In short, we mustn't meet often,
To be certain of peace of mind.

Yet it's your voice sings in my poems,
And in your poems my breath sighs,
O, beyond the reach of distance or fear,
There is a fire…
And if you knew how dear to me
Are those dry, pale lips of yours now.


3

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 'We shall not sip from the same glass,' to your own personal library.

Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; White Night

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