Anna Akhmatova
Sonnet

It wasn’t at all that quite mysterious painter,
Which has well-pictured Hoffmann’s misty dreams, —
From that unknown and far spring, it seems,
I can observe a plantain in its flatter.

And it was greening — our town, plain,
Trimming its steps, like some wings, wide and soaring...
And, with a torch of chorals, freely rolling,
Psyche was going into my domain.

And near the tree, in deep of the fourth yard,
Were dancing children in their full delight
To the one-legged hand-organ’s strident giggle,

And life was knelling with all bells anew,
And crazy blood was leading me to you
Along the path, so commonplace and single.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver