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“But on that pale hand is no ring of mine, To no one will I give it, ever. The new moon’s golden beam forged it for me, And slipping it on in my sleep, whispered to me entreatingly; “Treasure this gift, be proud of the dream!” I won’t give the ring to anyone, ever.” — Anna Akhmatova
But on that pale hand is no ring of mine,
To no one will I give it, ever.
The new moon’s golden beam forged it for me,
And slipping it on in my sleep, whispered to
me entreatingly;
“Treasure this gift, be proud of the dream!”
I won’t give the ring to anyone, ever.