How can you look at the Neva,
Stand on bridges just the same? . . .
No wonder I've borne signs of grieving
Since the night your image came.
Sharp are the black angels' wings,
Soon the judgement of the dead,
And street bonfires blazing red
Like roses in snow are flowering.


Бібліотека ім. Анни Ахматової >> Твори >> Переклади >> Збірки віршів (англ. мова)

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