Anna Akhmatova
For Mikhail Lozinsky

It’s endless — the heavy, amber day!
Impossible grief, pointless waiting!
And the silver-voiced deer, again,
Under the Northern Lights, belling.

And I think there’s cold snow
A blue font for the poor and ill,
And a little sledge’s headlong flow,
To the ancient chime of far-off bells.

Translated by A. S. Kline