My breast grew …

My breast grew helplessly cold,
But my steps were light.
I pulled the glove from my left hand
Mistakenly onto my right.

It seemed there were so many steps,
But I knew there were only three!
Amidst the maples an autumn whisper
Pleaded: ‘Die with me!

I’m led astray by evil
Fate, so black and so untrue.’
I answered: ‘I, too, dear one!
I, too, will die with you…’

This is a song of the final meeting.
I glanced at the house’s dark frame.
Only bedroom candles burning
With an indifferent yellow flame.

–Anna Akhmatova

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