Anna Akhmatova
Every day you’re anxious all over again...

Every day you’re anxious all over again,
every day the sweet, nutty malt smell
of the ripening rye gets stronger.
Go ahead, just stretch out on the ground
beside me, sweetheart, doze for a while.

In the wide-branched oaks, orioles scream;
nothing short of nightfall shuts them up.
Its enough fun for me to watch you sleep,
chase the occasional playful wasp
away from your closed green eyes.

I hear the jingle of a horse’s harness bells
from the road, a faint sound, heavy with memories.
I sing you a lullaby, a little song
about sad partings at eventide;
sleep, don’t wake, don’t cry.

Translated by Seraphina Powell