Friday, May 27, 2011

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

God Save the Muses

Muse went away by the road,
The autumnal, narrow, steep,
And her swarthy feet were slopped,
With large drops of dew in her slip.

I begged her, with hope and fear,
To stay till the winter’s white lace,
She answered, “There is a grave here,
How can you still breathe in such place?”

I wished to give her a she-pigeon,
The whitest in our doves’ nest,
But suddenly and without reason,
She fled after my slender guest.

I looked after Muse, and was silent,
I loved only her till my end,
And in skies grew a sunrise giant,
As the gate into her own land.

(Anna Akhmatova)

Tuesday, May 3, 2011