Anna Akhmatova

I was so praying: �Quench, Oh Lord,
My deepened thirst of the song-singing!�
But for the worldly in the world
There�s no a chance of any freeing.

Like altar�s smoke that couldn�t flee
Up to the famous throne Father�s �
But only floats by the feet,
Kissing worshipfully the grasses, �

Such I kiss grounds yours, Oh God!
Will ever touch the Heavens� fire
The lashes of my eyes, strong-closed,
And this strange dumbness, to admire?

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2002