From the Silver Age

We won’t meet. We are in different camps.
Would you summon me there, insolent one,
Where my brother suffered bloody wounds,
Accepting an angel’s crown?

And neither your soulful smiles
Nor your savage vows,
Not even the thrilling, rippling ghost
Of my most ecstatic love
Will seduce…

Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966)
tr. by Judith Hemschemeyer

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