Memory Of Sun by Anna Akhmatova

Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes
Hover, hover.

Water becoming ice is slowing in
The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again,
Will ever happen.

Against the sky the willow spreads a fan
The silk's torn off.
Maybe it's better I did not become
Your wife.

Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? -- Dark?
Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us
In the night.

by Anna Akhmatova

Other poems by 'Anna Akhmatova'

I Don't Know If You're Alive Or Dead

I Wrung My Hands

March Elegy

Requiem

Solitude

The Sentence

Twenty-First. Night. Monday

Under Her Dark Veil

You Thought I Was That Type

Lot's Wife

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