For M. Lozinsky
It goes on without end – the day, hevy and amber!
How impossible is grief, how vain the waiting!
And with a silver voice, again the deer
Speaks in the deer-park of the Northern Lights.
And I believe that there is cool snow,
And a blue font for those whose hands are empty,
And a small sledge is being wildly ridden,
Under the ancient chimes of distant bells.
– by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (1912)
– from Четки (Rosary, 1914), translation by D. M. Thomas