“A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me.” MotherFatherHeavenHoursFireAngelChoirForsakenVaults Book:Избранные Стихи Source: Избранные Стихи
“And it seemed to me that there were fires Flying till dawn without number And I never found out things-those Strange eyes of his-what colour? Everything trembling and singing and Were you my enemy or my friend, Winter was it or summer?” EyeFoundNumbersEnemyFireStrangeSummerSingingMy FriendsWinterFlyingDawnColourTrembling Author:Anna Akhmatova
“Flowers, cold from the dew, And autumn's approaching breath, I pluck for the warm, luxuriant braids, Which haven't faded yet. In their nights, fragrantly resinous, Entwined with delightful mystery, They will breathe in her springlike Extraordinary beauty. But in a whirlwind of sound and fire, From her shing head they will flutter And falland before her They will die, faintly fragrant still. And, impelled by faithful longing, My obedient gaze will feast upon them With a reverent hand, Love will gather their rotting remains.” StillsHandsNightDiesFallSoundFireMysteryHavensFlowerColdBreathsRemainsLongingExtraordinaryWarmBreatheFaithfulAutumnDelightfulDewObedientFadedPluckRottingWhirlwindEntwinedBraidsExtraordinary Beauty Author:Anna Akhmatova
“You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.” ThinkingHeartHardWantedRememberFireSkyStormColourThunderRemember MeCrimsonRims Book:You will hear thunder: Akhmatova, poems Source: You will hear thunder: Akhmatova, poems
“You thought I was that type: that you could forget me, and that I'd plead and weep and throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare, or that I'd ask the sorcerers for some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift: my precious perfumed handkerchief. Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul vicarious tears or a single glance. And I swear to you by the garden of the angels, I swear by the miracle-working ikon, and by the fire and smoke of our nights: I will never come back to you.” HeartMadeSoulNightAsksForgetFireMagicTearsBrokenTypeTerribleAngelGardenRootsMiracleSmokeDamnBroken HeartGrantsSwearGlancesCursedForget MeHandkerchiefsVicariousMaresDamn You Author:Anna Akhmatova
