Anna Akhmatova
In Tsarskoe selo

1

They’re leading the horses along the allee,
Long are the waves of combed-out manes.
Oh enchanting little town of riddles,
Though I love you, I am mournful.

It’s strange to remember: my soul yearned,
It panted, delirious, near death.
Now I've become a plaything,
Like my rosy friend the cockatoo.

No hint of pain oppresses my breast,
If you like, look into my eyes.
But I don't like the hour before sunset,
The wind from the sea and the word: “Leave.”

2

...And there’s my marble double,
Lying under the ancient maple,
He has given his face to the waters of the lake,
And he’s listening to the green rustling.

And bright rainwater washes
His clotted wound...
Cold one, white one, wait,
I’ll become marble too.

3

A dark-skinned youth wandered along these allées,
By the shores of this lake he yearned,
And a hundred years later we cherish
The rustle of steps, faintly heard.
A layer of pine needles covers
The stumps with a thick, bristly mat...
Here lay his tattered copy of Parny
And his three-cornered hat.

Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer