Anna Akhmatova
- At Tsarskoye Selo, by A. S. Kline
- In Tsarskoe Selo, by Andrey Kneller
«The coachman sits like a king, / Wadded in armor, on a throne, / Spade-bearded like an icon, / Ringing with chain mail of coins. / And the poor horse flutters its arms, / Stretching like a coney fish, / Or, once more, flashing its eight legs / From out its gleaming belly.»
«Somewhere in a field near Magadan, / Despairing and fearing for their life, / Through the swirling, freezing mists / They trudge behind the sledges. / From the soldiers’ iron roar, / From the preying gang of thieves, / Only the first aid post can save them here, / Or being sent for f...»
«The car shuddered and stopped, / They stepped into the evening spaces, / And work-worn the driver sank / Exhausted over his wheel. / Far off, through the windows, / Trembled fiery constellations. / The old man, with his lady friend, / Stopped by the flowerbed. / And heavy-eyed, the d...»
«The forward exults on the run. / What does it matter to him now! / Not for nothing is his body / Arched as it hurtles on. / Like a cloak, his soul streams out behind, / His collarbone knocks loud against / The fastening of the cloak. / The membrane dances in his ear, / In his throat ...»