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In the Evening
The music rang out in the garden With such inexpressible grief. Oysters in ice on the plate Smelled fresh and sharp, of the sea. He told me: "I am your true friend!" And he touched my dress. How unlike a caress, The touch of those hands. As one might stroke a cat or a bird, Or watch slender equestriennes ride... Under the light gold lashes There is only laughter in his tranquil eyes. And the voices of mournful violins Sing through the drifting smoke: "Praise heaven above--for the first time You're alone with the man you love."
by Anna Akhmatova |
