I walked without dragging my feet
but felt heavy at heart and frightened;
and I pulled onto my left hand
the glove that belonged to the right.
There seemed to be countless steps,
though I knew there were only three,
and an autumn voice from maples
whispered, ‘Die with me!
I have been undone by a fate
that is cheerless, flighty and cruel.’
I repied, ‘So have I, my dearest –
let me die one death with you…’
The song of a last encounter:
I glanced up at a dark wall:
from the bedroom indifferent candles
glowed yellow… And that was all.
by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova)
(1911, Tsarkoye Selo)
from Вечер (Evening, 1912)
translation by Robert Chandler
This is an alternative version of same poem translated as Song of the Last Meeting by D. M. Thomas.