Black and enduring seperation
I share equally with you.
Why weep? Give me your hand,
Promise me you will come again.
You and I are like high
Mountains and we can’t move closer.
Just send me word
At midnight sometime through the stars.
by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (1946)
from Седьмая книга (The Seventh Book)
translation by D. M. Thomas
I come again with greetings new,
to tell you day is well begun;
to say the leaves are fresh with dew
and dappled in the early sun;
to tell you how the forest stirs
in every branch of every brake,
and what an April thirst is hers,
with every whistling bird awake;
to say, as yesterday, once more,
with love as passionate and true,
my heart is ready as before
for serving happiness and you;
to tell how over every thing
delight is blowing on the air –
I know not yet what I shall sing;
I only know the song is there.
by Афанасий Афанасьевич Фет (Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet)
a.k.a. Шеншин (Shenshin)
translated by Frances Cornford and Esther Polianowsky Salaman