Anna Akhmatova
I hid my heart from you...

I hid my heart from you
As if I had hurled it into the Neva...
Wingless and domesticated,
I live here in your home.
Only... at night I hear creaking.
What’s there — in the strange gloom?
The Sheremetev lindens...
The roll call of the spirits of the house...
Approaching cautiously,
Like gurgling water,
Misfortune’s black whisper
Nestles warmly to my ear —
And murmurs, as if this were
Its business for the night:
“You wanted comfort,
Do you know where it is — your comfort?”

Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer