Oh, Muse of Weeping, the finest from all the muses!
Oh you, the crazy baby of hell of a white night!
You are sending the black and bad blizzard on Rus
(* Rus’ – is the short word from Russia)
Your squeals are piercing us as the arrows tight!
And we are jumping aside, and indisinct: ‘Oh! ‘ –
The hundred thousand voices – are swearing
To you – Anna Akhmatova! – That name in a whole,
The unanimous sigh – is falling in chasm, unnamed.
We are crowned with the thing, that we’re tramping
Just the same earth, and the sky
Is also the same above us anywhere!
And those, who were wounded by your fatal fate,
Become immortal in ascension to the death’s bed.
In my melodious town the domes are shining,
And the blinds are blessing the Saviour smart… –
I present to you, Akhmatova! – my town,
All filled with bells, and also my heart.
16 June 1916
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