Anna Akhmatova

Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours,
So gentle and quiet – we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,
Are this dream, becoming the truth,
Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favor,
The light ring of your silver spurs...



*****************************************************



If the moon on the skies does not roam,
But cools, like a seal above,
My dead husband enters the home
To read the letters of love....

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2000
Edited by Orit Bonver, August 2000